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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531253">It Goes On</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireplace_Dragon/pseuds/Fireplace_Dragon'>Fireplace_Dragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cassandra Pentaghast's Disgusted Noises, Eventual Romance, Friendship, Future Romance, Haven't picked pairings yet, If the canon does not spark joy, Inquisitor makes them too, Inspired by Fanfiction, MCiT, MGiT, Magic-Users, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, OC likes to sing though, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Playing fast and loose with magic rules, Pre-Canon, Project Elvhenan, Rating May Change, Recovered Memories, Reincarnation, Sarcasm, Solas is weird and awkward, Sporadic Updates, Threnn isn't a total douche, Visions in dreams, no beta we die like men, non-inquisitor lead, not technically a song fic, semi-hiatus, this poor child didnt know what she was missing, toss it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:49:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireplace_Dragon/pseuds/Fireplace_Dragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mahra Parel was a strange child. Diagnosed as an old soul, she is ruled by her intuition and her unusual sense of prevision. She's always had an uncanny ability to predict the future, though her gut never makes sense until after the fact. Quickly coming to terms with her gifts, she decides that she's going to help save the world. At least, she would like to. Mahra has no idea what the threat is, only that it's coming. Soon. </p><p>SEMI-HIATUS, not abandoned, just ADHD</p><p>Inspired by the reincarnation MGiT fic, Sky Touched by AntlersandFangs, because I flipping love it</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>326</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Linalin'en Av'ahnis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258745">Sky Touched</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntlersandFangs/pseuds/AntlersandFangs">AntlersandFangs</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Lass/pseuds/Celtic_Lass">Celtic_Lass</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mahra was born in the year 9:14 Dragon, in the coastal village of Gwaren to Diren and Elmet Parel. The Parels had moved from the Denerim Alienage shortly after they married, wanting a better life for the family they planned to create. Gwaren, now under the leadership of the war-hero Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir and his wife Maeve, had begun to flourish. Though, Maeve was the one ruling. It was the perfect choice for a new beginning.</p><p><br/>
 Diren had noticed within the first week that her daughter was different than any other infants she'd known. Unlike the babes she'd helped to care for in the close-knit community of the Alienage, Mahra had refused to latch. While that was not unheard of, she'd never seen a newborn so eagerly reach her tiny arms up to grab at the solid foods Diren ate. Elmet, for all his redeeming qualities, didn't seem concerned with Mahra's odd preferences in food. She'd scolded him many times for letting their child gum at the bread crusts.</p><p><br/>
 That was only of the first of many unusual characteristics Mahra would begin to demonstrate over her lifetime, much to Diren and Elmet's dismay and rarer relief. Diren was surprised that she almost never woke up in the middle of the night to a baby's cry. Mahra rarely ever cried at all. Instead, she babbled. Even at her most fussy, she would rarely scream or wail. Mahra's attempts to speak began much earlier than any of the children Diren baby-sat as a girl. In fact, all of her firsts were much earlier than expected. </p><p><br/>
 "She's frustrated," Elmet noted, watching a one month year old Mahra scowl at him from the bed with as much focus as a baby could muster. Or more. Diren nodded, gently stretching the tiny thing's legs to help her muscles develop.</p><p><br/>
 "Ah." Mahra replied, curtly. She lifted her little arms and stared at her hands with an intensity that even Elmet knew was out of place on such a young creature. As a boy, he'd helped care for children, like most Alienage youths, but never infants. He'd been a bit dismissive of Diren's concern at first, he could admit with a degree of shame, but Mahra certainly was very odd. <br/>
 </p><p>When Mahra Parel was a year old, both parents agreed that she was advancing with a bizarre swiftness. She was already toddling around their hut, speaking in broken sentences and asking questions. What was most perplexing, and most worrying, was that she seemed to have an abnormal grasp on the small world around her. Diren never found her exploring dangerous items. Elmet's small hunting knife remained sheathed on the edge of the table, Diren had sharp words with him over that later, while a piece of writing charcoal was swiped from the center. <br/>
 </p><p>The two marveled over the young elf's odd scribbling on the floor, Diren noting how much it looked like some kind of runic lettering. Neither were learned enough to know what kind it was, nor were they willing to risk the <em>shems</em> knowing of their child's strange brilliance. <br/>
 </p><p>Outside of Denerim, the humans were much less open in their scorn towards elves. In fact, many of their shemlan neighbors in Gwaren were very pleasant to interact with, even when not working. The Parels still preferred the company of other elves though, but they decided against mentioning the runes to them too. Mahra was huffy when Elmet cleaned her work off the wooden boards, but she didn't fight them on it.<br/>
 </p><p>Mahra was surprisingly temperamental. they found. Once she could word her arguments properly, Elmet and Diren learned that she was very stubborn and had the strangest of requests. By the age of two, they had ceased rebuffing her unusual demands, and instead started to ask for explanations of why she was so insistent. Once they began to listen, she mellowed swiftly, though remained swift to anger if provoked. So much for terrible twos. <br/>
 As she grew over the years, the other residents of Gwaren took notice of her behavior. They had been a little startled by Mahra's manners during their visits to the Parel home, or when they saw her in the market with Diren, selling game meat and furs that Elmet procured. The child had a habit of looking around with an unsettlingly analytical gaze from her stool behind the stall. When she was old enough to venture away from her mother's skirts, she didn't try to play with the other merchant children. She would wander the shop stalls curiously, listening to gossip and news exchanges, asking questions of the sailors. </p><p><br/>
 Diren was scared at first, seeing a five year old Mahra surrounded by very large and intimidating boat-goers of all colors, but the child suddenly seemed to ooze confidence in a way that surprised her. Diren was still wary, but Mahra had decided that she liked the ever changing array of people who came by docks, and the woman couldn't help but take her there regularly over the years.<br/>
 </p><p>One trader, a massive woman from the people called Aavar, told Diren that the gods had seen fit to bless Mahra with a wisdom beyond her years. The Aavar explained that the youth had the eyes of someone older, and upon further questioning, was told that an Augur or other magic lore keeper would be able to give better answers than a trader. </p><p> "Mahra?" Elmet had called her in from the garden when Diren told him what the Aavar said, "What did that woman at the docks say to you?" He was curious as to what would bring a foreigner to suggest some kind of consultation with a mage.<br/>
 </p><p>"She wanted to know why I was so unafraid." Mahra said, nonplussed, "I told her that I just wanted to know about where she came from." Her father raised a brow. The child huffed, "I need to know about these things, it'll be important." That was the phrase that had Elmet and Diren the most worried. It will be important. It was uttered more often than a child should ever speak it. Once was more than enough.<br/>
 </p><p>"Why will it be important?" Diren asked, "You always say things will be important but why?" Mahra frowned, looking down at her feet. This was her reaction, every time her motives were questioned. Should a seven year old even have motives? The girl inhaled slowly, before looking her mother in the eye.</p><p> "I want to keep you safe." Diren's heart dropped. She looked at her husband, who was running his hand nervously through his hair.</p><p> "We're your parents <em>da'len</em>, it's our job to keep you safe. You don't have to worry about protecting us." Elmet said, putting a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder.</p><p> "Yes I do!" Mahra shouted, her parents flinching at the surprise of a rare outburst, "You don't know it, but I'll need to!" She pushed between the two of them and raced out of the hut. Elmet started to follow, but a hand in his stopped him. <br/>
 </p><p>"The Aavar was right, we need to talk to someone," Diren said softly, her voice wavering. Elmet pulled her into an embrace, smoothing her hair. "Not the Chantry," she continued, "If it's some kind of magic-"<br/>
 </p><p>"I don't know what it is <em>ma vhenan</em>," Elmet confessed, holding her tight, "But the Brecilian Forest is home to many Dalish. I'll... I'll take Mahra with me when I go hunting. She's old enough to go now, but she's always been old enough." Diren laughed against his chest, "If we find a Dalish clan, I'll try to talk to them. If not, we come back." <br/>
 </p><p>Mahra wasn't in her favorite spot in the nearby woods, so Elmet took a chance with the docks. He found her there, sitting on an old crate, listening to sailors gossip. Her big brown eyes were red and puffy, and she sniffled when he approached.</p><p> "-got promoted too," said one sailor, "She's the Knight-Commander now." Mahra frowned, avoiding her father's eyes. She stood up, wiping her nose on her sleeve.<br/>
 </p><p> </p><p>"We goin' home?" She asked, melancholy. Elmet ruffled her hair, despite the icy glare she sent him. She loathed being treated like a child. No child did.<br/>
 </p><p>"Yes," he said, "You'll probably want to pack. I'm going to take you with me to go on a big hunting trip tomorrow." Mahra's face lit up. <br/>
 </p><p>"You mean it?" She asked, sadness practically forgotten. Elmet smiled, pleased that she was looking forward to it. He'd always missed her while he was away on his longer hunts, but furs to sell kept his family fed. He had been eagerly awaiting the day his daughter could join him. Learn what he hoped could become the family trade. He shook his head of those thoughts as he followed Mahra home, the future could wait for now. There were many questions that needed to be answered.<br/>
 </p><p>They journeyed for a week before Elmet was ready to turn them around and go home. The hunting was successful, that he was glad of. Mahra had been just as eager to learn how to use a bow and a knife as he'd hoped, and despite her initial wariness of dressing a kill, she had eventually tried it herself. She was washing her hands as he looked around, taking her time and using the sandy creekbed to scrub blood from her skin when they heard a voice.<br/>
 </p><p>"What brings you here,<em> Mor'vharla'len</em>?" Elmet practically jumped out of his skin, his head whipping around for the source of the voice. An elf in leather armor stepped out of the woods, an arrow resting against her undrawn bowstring. She was ready to defend herself, but didn't perceive the two of them as a threat. Silvery ink swirled around her forehead, part way down her nose, and below her eyes. Her hair was mostly grey.<br/>
 </p><p>"We were just hunting, right <em>Babae</em>?" Mahra said quickly. The Dalish hunter's eyes darted to the girl, who seemed far too young to have jumped in the way she did. Elmet raised his hands carefully, keeping them in view.</p><p> "<em>Atisha</em>," He called, "I had hoped to find the Dalish in these woods." He ignored the questioning stare of his daughter, "I would like to speak with your keeper, if they would meet me." The hunter looked him in the eyes, then again at his now confused and angry child. Another hunter stepped into the clearing, his bow in a relaxed hand.<br/>
 </p><p>"Did you come to join?" The new elf asked, his <em>vallaslin</em> a dark knotted tree across his entire face, "It would not be the first time we have taken outsiders." Elmet shook his head, wondering if he should explain himself now or wait to meet the Keeper.<br/>
 "No, I have questions that need to be answered and there are none in my town with the knowledge." He settled on part of the truth. The nature of these questions should not be common knowledge with strangers.<br/>
 </p><p>"<em>Babae</em>!" Mahra hissed at him, almost distraught with the realization of his motives. Guilt tugged at his heartstrings, but Elmet needed to know more, and perhaps Mahra would find answers to some of her own questions. She had so many after all.<br/>
 </p><p>The camp was impressive, Elmet had not seen so many elves in one place since he'd left the Alienage. The Dalish looked on, pausing their tasks briefly to observe the newcomers. The older elves returned to their work while the younger elves looked on. The woman who had escorted the two to the camp told them to stay put, and went to look for their Keeper. The man stayed close by, keeping an eye on them. </p><p> Mahra stiffened as a pair of Dalish children approached. The elder, a fair skinned, fair eyed boy looked her up and down.<br/>
 </p><p>"I've never seen you before, and I know everyone here. Who are you? Are you joining the clan?" He talked so quickly, it was almost difficult to keep up.</p><p> "...I'm Mahra," Mahra said softly, "And we wouldn't join without <em>Mamae</em>. <em>Babae</em> said he had to ask the Keeper some questions."</p><p> "Keeper Marethari?" The boy asked. He didn't seem to notice when Mahra's eyes went wide and she took a half-step back. He crossed his arms, "What kind of questions?" Mahra recovered from her initial shock and squinted at the lad.<br/>
 </p><p>"Questions like 'who asks someone who they are and doesn't give their name?'" She replied curtly. The adults muffled their chuckles, pretending not to listen to the children's conversation.</p><p> "Oh!" The boy said, eyes wide, "I'm Tamlen, and this is my best friend Lyna!" He motioned to the girl behind him, her green eyes appraising Mahra with suspicion. Mahra looked a bit pale. Before Tamlen could continue, an old elven woman approached the group. <br/>
 </p><p>"<em>Andaran atish’an</em>, travelers." She said, "I am Keeper Merethari of the clan Sabrae, Ashalle said you had questions for me?" Marha grabbed Elmet's hand, hiding behind him quickly. Elmet had noticed that some people made her very nervous, but he had no idea what it was about those specific people.<br/>
 </p><p>"My name is Elmet Parel, this is my daughter Mahra. I was advised by an Aavar trader to seek someone knowledgeable in magic, that they might know why she was 'blessed by the gods'. At least, by the Aavar gods." Elmet explained, his voice lowered so he wouldn't announce his child's oddity to the entire clan. Merethari listened in silence, mulling over his words for a minute after he spoke. Then, she motioned he follow. Mahra was close behind, still looking spooked.</p><p> In Marethari's aravel, she bid Mahra sit and began to look her over. In her eyes, at her hands, though the Keeper lingered at Mahra's palms. "May I use magic?" She asked, as much to Mahra as to Elmet. Both parties silently approved, and the mage closed her eyes.</p><p> Mahra's skin began to tingle where the Keeper still held her hands. There was a coldness spreading through her veins, up her arms. The chill brushed her heart only for a moment before retreating. Mahra yanked her hands back, glaring at the woman with inscrutable suspicion. Keeper Marethari frowned.<br/>
 </p><p>"What did this Aavar say to you?" She asked Elmet.<br/>
 </p><p>"Not to me, to my wife. She said that Mahra was wise beyond her years, that there was age in her eyes. Said we would need to ask an Augur or a lore keeper if we wanted to know more." Elmet explained, putting his hand on Mahra's shoulder reassuringly. The Keeper listened quietly, her brows furrowed. </p><p> "What do you believe happens when we die?" She asked Elmet. Elmet paused, considering the question.</p><p> "I am not the best person to ask," He admitted, "I know that the Chant does not include our people, but I am not familiar with our people's history, so I do not know where we would go." </p><p> "Falon'din guides the Dalish elves to the Beyond, right?" Mahra asked, stunning both adults into silence.<br/>
 </p><p>"Did- One of the sailors told you that, yes?" Elmet asked her, not sure he wanted to know the answer.<br/>
 </p><p>"You are correct, <em>da'len</em>," Keeper Marethari told Mahra, distracting from the tension created in her home. "Falon'din, Friend to the Dead, would guide us into the Beyond, the Fade, before Fen'Harel shut the gods away from us." Elmet nodded slowly, listening. The  Keeper continued, "It is told that not all the ancient elves would stay in the Beyond, their bodies would slumber for ages, but they would sometimes return. With them, they would bring great knowledge. Your daughter's soul, her spirit, is..." The elf paused, unsure of how to phrase her next words, "She is woven together from threads old and new. Her spirit is her own, but many of the fibers once belonged to someone else, someone much older." Mahra stared at the wooden floor of the aaravel, while Elmet sat in stunned silence.</p><p> "Is it possible for her to have knowledge of... Things?" He asked, his words slow and careful. Marethari nodded, attempting to explain.</p><p> "She may have memories of a previous life." The Keeper said, "Mahra?" The girl looked up, eyes wide, "Do you remember anything?"</p><p> "I..." She started, "I remember..." Her little brows turned up, her entire face scrunching as though deep in thought, "Sometimes I see it in my dreams. I don't really remember them when I wake up, but I hear names and I know them. I remember people but they don't remember me." The look on Elmet's face made it clear that he'd never heard this before, but the surprise gave way to a hardness. This also made sense to him, "I can't explain it," Mahra continued, "I see people and I hear their names and I know things about them. You." She looked up at the Keeper, "I think I met you before, and Tamlen. And the Teyrn back home. Things are going to happen, bad things."<br/>
 </p><p>"The Teyrn? Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir? He's never even looked at us." Elmet was confused, "You've never met any Dalish before today." Mahra's stormy grey eyes went glassy, tears welling up and already beginning to spill.<br/>
 </p><p>"There is a great danger in knowing," Keeper Marethari said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Take care not to let the <em>shemlans</em> know. They will not take kindly on an elf who has knowledge that she should not possess, especially if it has yet to come to pass." Mahra nodded, sniffling loudly. Elmet passed her a handkerchief, which she took with a mumbled thanks.<br/>
 </p><p>"I understand, the <em>shems</em> think that she is strange, but it is better be strange than to be a prophet. Especially as an elf." Elmet told the Keeper, "<em>Ma serannas</em>, you have been of great help to us." From his pocket, he took a small wooden pendant that he had carved, in the likeness of a halla. At least, what they looked like in the drawings. He had carved it during the downtime on their journey. He wasn't sure what the Dalish would like, so he had taken a guess. The Keeper smiled, accepting the gift.</p><p> "I do not require payment, <em>Lethallin</em>," Marethari said, "But I appreciate the gift nonetheless." She turned back to Mahra, who seemed to still be coming to terms with what she had learned. "Take care, <em>da'len</em>, do not lose hope. Be wary, do not let others know your secret." Mahra nodded, her face blank and her eyes red.<br/>
 Elmet bid farewell to the members of the clan he'd met, while Mahra made a quiet comment to Tamlen and Lyna, telling them to stay safe. The Dalish youngsters nodded, though not understanding the weight behind her warning. Only Marethari noticed the heartbroken look on Mahra's face. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
 Years passed, and Mahra had begun to blossom from snot nosed child into a young woman. She began to interact more with the children of the town, getting into scraps and coming home muddied but proud. She was eight when her magic manifested, but she was already wise and careful enough to keep it a secret from the people of Gwaren. Her parents, fearful of the Chantry's potential reaction to an elven seer, vowed to keep her safe from them. When she was eleven, the town mourned the loss of King Maric. Mahra predicted that Anora Mac Tir would move out of Gwaren. A month later, Anora went to Denerim, marrying Maric's son Cailan. </p><p> Mahra practiced her magic in secret, but still devoted energy into building her physical strength. She learned archery, and her parents would find her using some odd form of hand-to-hand combat techniques on the trees in the woods just outside of town. "It'll be important," She insisted, and Elmet and Diren didn't doubt that. They didn't understand, they knew they probably wouldn't until whatever she was worried about happened. </p><p> She was fifteen when Teyrn Loghain called for volunteers to fight darkspawn to the west. Many of the men in Gwaren took up arms, but Elmet stayed with Diren and Mahra, at Mahra's demand. The night the recruits marched towards Ostagar, the front, Mahra began to devote more of her time to her magic. She wanted to be subtle, quick. Light on her feet and dangerous with or without weapons. Diren fretted, but both she and Elmet knew that it would get worse. It was important.</p><p> News came when Mahra was sixteen. Dragon 9:30, Ostagar fell, the crier said, the Grey Wardens killed King Cailan. Mahra scowled at the news, muttering that it was all lies. But no one could deny that a blight was beginning. Refugees began to stream into Gwaren, seeking passage out of Ferelden. Many boarded ships to other nations, sailing north to Antiva or Rivain. Some ships turned to the Waking Sea, to Nevarra or the Free Marches. Especially to Kirkwall.</p><p> The Parels went to Kirkwall with many others, but the gates were locked against refugees. Mahra was unsurprised and unconcerned. "We don't want to stay in Kirkwall anyway," She said, Diren and Elmet trusted her instincts. They went to Markham instead. They settled in rather quickly, Elmet and Mahra learning the local wilderness and restarting their usual lifestyle. Hunting and selling meat and furs. Diren began to preserve meat in an odd jellied state, which brought in more money than they were used to.<br/>
 </p><p>There was an overall unease about their presence as refugees from Ferelden, but the Parels managed to endear themselves to the small group that lived around them and formed a life. Mahra kept her ears open for news, and there was lots of news to hear. Some Wardens survived Ostagar and were travelling Ferelden with the old Grey Warden Treaties. Kinloch Hold was destroyed, but the surviving mages and templars pledged their aid. The power struggle in Orzammar was solved, also by the Wardens. The Wardens saved Redcliffe from a demon, and saved the Arl and his family. The Wardens helped discover the Temple of Sacred Ashes. A village full of humans claiming to have been cured of lycanthropy by the Wardens. Loghain was executed for treachery by a human revealed to have been King Maric's bastard son. That human married Anora and became king.<br/>
 </p><p>A year had passed quickly while the news streamed in. Mahra was seventeen years old when the Fifth Blight ended, the archdemon slain in Denerim. When they heard the news that the Hero of Ferelden, a Dalish mage by the name of Lyna Mahariel, had survived, Mahra seemed very delighted. </p><p> "We met Lyna, remember? From Clan Sabrae." Mahra told Elmet, Diren's brows raising at the revelation. "She was hiding behind Tamlen." Elmet remembered a small, scrappy girl, mouse brown hair and large green eyes. That was her? Mahra nodded, as though she read his mind.</p><p> "You told them to be careful," Elmet recalled, his memory of the children coming back to him.</p><p> "Yes," Mahra began, her brows furrowing, "I keep remembering things, like they'd already happened before. I get hunches, but I don't know why until they resolve." Diren leaned in, smoothing Mahra's hair in a comforting manner as she explained her reasoning. "I remember now, Tamlen had to die so that Lyna could save the world." Both Diren and Elmet tensed, blood running cold. The Dalish Keeper had used the word prophet to describe Mahra's odd behavior, but this was the clearest sign of her prevision they'd seen or heard. More than a hunch or lucky guess. It wouldn't be the last.<br/>
 Land was granted to the Dalish at Mahariel's request by King Alistair and Queen Anora, land to the west of Gwaren but north of the Korcari Wilds. A place where the Dalish could permanently settle if they chose. Shortly after, The Circle in Starkhaven fell, with the survivors moving to Kirkwall. Mahra became even more reclusive about her magic, no longer practicing under the watchful eyes of her parents. She trained in secret, insisting that she would want to help when things got worse. </p><p> When Mahra was twenty, a man named Garrett Hawke was named Champion of Kirkwall for eliminating the Qunari occupation and avenging the death of the Viscount. When Elmet asked his daughter if that was why she wanted to avoid the massive city-state, she waved her hand from side to side, open palm to the ground.<br/>
 </p><p>"Part of it. It's not the worst of it." She said, "I know it's going to have to do with the templars." Elmet knew Mahra's tells, the way one brow ever so slightly tensed when she lied about the future. This was not a lie, it was her prevision. He and Diren discussed it for several days, before cautiously suggesting that Mahra write a letter to the Champion. </p><p> "Don't sign it, maybe just add 'from a concerned party'?" Diren offered. Mahra seemed anxious, but she liked the idea well enough. So she took up paper and a quill and wrote in a slow and careful hand.</p><p> "Garrett Hawke,<br/>
 You do not know me, but I know of you. You are someone with the power to make a difference. Kirkwall's troubles are only just beginning. Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard is at the center of it. I cannot tell you why, and I cannot tell you how I know. Keep an eye on her, and be safe.<br/>
 A Concerned Friend"</p><p><br/>
 Mahra put the quill down, watching the ink on the page dry. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and her heart pounded in her chest. She read over the letter several times, questioning whether or not it was wise to do this. She wanted to help the world in any way that she could, that was why she was teaching herself to fight. This though? This was different.<br/>
 </p><p>She steeled her resolve and paid a courier to take the letter to Kirkwall along with the rest of the letters being sent there. Tracking her down would be difficult, her prevision a close guarded secret. No one in Markham had any reason to suspect her of being an apostate. That was why she was so careful after all. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
 The Kirkwall Chantry exploded when Mahra was twenty three. News spread through the Free Marches like wildfire. Diren and Elmet didn't ask Mahra if she'd known this was going to happen. The grim look on her face told them that she had. Unrest swept across Thedas as other Circles began to rebel against the templars, and the templars growing more violent in dealing with the uprisings. The Chantry's control was dying, and quickly. </p><p> The city of Markham became terrified of the Circle in their midst. The proximity of both agitated mages and templars began to push people out. The Parels included. Mahra's nature as a hedge mage made her parents fear for her safety should the growing conflict spread to include the civilians. Especially if the templars began to attack the city. They left the Free Marches entirely, moving back to Ferelden. At Mahra's request, they moved south, to the lands set aside for the elves by the King and Queen.</p><p> They settled in the shadow of the ruins of Ostagar, a village named <em>Banal'ras Banalhan</em> by the Dalish, and rebuilt. The Parels were strong, they would thrive as they always did. "We are like elfroot," Diren once said, "We can grow wherever we land no matter how many times we are torn up." Mahra had grinned at the comparison to the useful weed. There, they were surrounded by their fellow elves, and Ostagar was far enough away from Redcliffe and the other human majority Ferelden settlements to keep them out of the racial tension. Chasind humans from the south and traveling merchants stopped by frequently to trade at the southernmost tip of the Imperial Highway.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
 Mahra practiced her magic deeper in the swamps and mists of the Korcari Wilds than any hunters went, satisfied that if anyone saw her in the distance they'd mistake her for a Witch of the Wilds. At this point, she might as well have been. She'd taught herself simple spells over the years, lightning and fire, a barrier, healing. But she remembered fragments of her past, tidbits of the magic of the wilderness. She didn't know how she knew, but her magic subconsciously pulled at the plants and animals around her. She could recall voices, whispered suggestions of what to do, what to feel. </p><p> First, there was nature magic. A favorite of the Dalish Keepers, calling upon plants to aid and defend you. Mahra had found that by meditating at the base of a tree, she could extend past herself and feel the life within each plant around her. From there, she began to try and get them to move. It took months and many headaches from the mental strain before she could coax roots to move. From that point however, she found she could manipulate vines, bring plants to bloom, or sprout seeds. </p><p> Her second specialization was much more strange by far. She had been shocked to the core when she shape-shifted for the first time, some manner of fade magic stripping away her clothing and weapons. She stood in the mud and trembled as she adjusted to her new senses. Looking down, she had paws. Behind her, she had a tail. Trying her voice, Mahra whined and yipped. She'd become a wolf. </p><p> She'd watched the wolves for months, they'd felt her connection to the landscape and did not see her as a threat. She observed their nature, how they moved and communicated. The way they hunted as though a single mind. She'd reached with her magic, focusing on what it would feel like to be one of them. And then, having come to know the beasts, she became one. A woman in her memory had told her how, pale skin and black hair, eyes glittering gold.</p><p> After Mahra's initial panic died down, she noticed that the pack she'd been observing had surrounded her. There was an exchange of curious sniffs, she crouched, licking her lips in a display that she meant no threat. The moment she did, the pack seemed to burst into excitement.<br/>
 </p><p>"The elf is like us!" She could barely believe her ears, "Friend?" She saw the leader's tail wag. Unsure of how to respond, she tried to speak. Not like before when she made a sound to make a sound, but she willed her new body to reply in kind.<br/>
 </p><p>"Friend." Mahra confirmed, dipping into a play bow, wagging her tail. The excitement of the wolves grew, and several of them tackled her. The wrestling, tug-of-war, and chasing lasted for what felt like hours before they all collapsed in a heap of fur and panting. <br/>
 </p><p>Diren and Elmet were surprised when Mahra stumbled home the next morning reeking of dog and covered in dirt and dry leaves and twigs. After a wash, Mahra sat at the table and combed her excess of hair. She told her family what she had been doing, what her magic was. They were startled, of course, as good parents would when they learned their daughter was wrestling with wolves in the supposedly haunted swamp. But they trusted her when she said she was safe there, that she was in control. They worried, but they had no reason not to believe her.<br/>
 </p><p>"Should I call you <em>da'fen</em> now?" Elmet teased. Mahra laughed, her big silvery eyes twinkling with delight. She set down the comb and began to braid her hair, shaking her head.<br/>
 </p><p>"I'm not so <em>da</em> now, and I hope to learn from other beasts soon enough." She said, "But I'm not so naive as to think I won't always be your <em>da'ashalan</em>." Diren couldn't help but put her hand to her chest, heart warmed by the open love her child always gave. </p><p> Still, she worried. Mahra's constant anxiety over the future weighed on her mind. Here she was, a respectable woman in her community, barely in her mid-fourties and beginning to grey. Granted, elves frequently greyed faster than most, the stress of being elves in a human dominated world taking a toll, but these were complicated times. They'd run so far so many times. And her daughter was preparing for something big.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Linalin'en Av'ahnis - Parents' innumerable questions<br/>Da'len - little one<br/>Ma vhenan - my heart<br/>Mor'vharla'len - City Child, elf from the city<br/>Atisha - peace<br/>Babae, Mamae - Father, Mother<br/>Andaran atish’an - "I dwell in this place, a place of peace", a formal greeting<br/>Shemlan/shem - Quick child, human<br/>Ma serannas - My thanks<br/>Lethallin - Friend<br/>Banal'ras Banalhan  - "Shadow Blight", Shadow of the Blight<br/>Da'fen - Little wolf<br/>Da'ashalan - Little daughter</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Banal'ras Banalhan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mahra Parel was twenty six, back straight where other city-born elves slouched, and beautiful, walking with a confidence that gained her several suitors. She turned them down politely, stating that she had a duty that needed to be priority. Her father refused offers of matches, stating that his daughter was too wild for the men and women who lived in <em>Banal'ras Banalhan</em>, in the Tower of Ishal's shadow.</p><p>One suitor was pushy enough that she challenged him to a duel in <em>Banal'ras Banalhan</em>'s market. He'd underestimated her, and she had him pinned to the dirt with ease. That was when she heard it. A laugh from nearby, one that was so heartbreakingly familiar she couldn't help but freeze. Unexpected emotion welled up inside and she looked around for the source while fighting the urge to cry. </p><p>The man who laughed was an elf, barefaced and angular. He hunched like a city elf, but he was taller then the rest. He met her stare, dark eyes almost hidden beneath his hood. His expression relaxed, he must have seen the confusion in her face because he tilted his head towards a quieter spot and walked away. Compelled by the sense of familiarity, Mahra followed him.<br/> </p><p>"Who are you?" She asked him, her voice strained and low enough to keep the conversation private. The stranger frowned, the crease of his brows making the scar on his forehead more apparent. <br/> </p><p>"The way you looked at me, I thought you already knew," He replied, "My presence seems to be causing you distress." Mahra rubbed the damp from her eyes.<br/> </p><p>"Apparently, but I do not know why. My name is Mahra Parel, you are traveling through?" Her attempt to change the topic was obvious, she knew, but she was reluctant to answer questions regarding her gut feelings. The stranger regarded her curiously, but seemed to decide not to push.<br/> </p><p>"I am Solas," He replied, ignoring the single raised brow on Mahra's face. "And I am. I am a traveler and I would like to explore this area for a while." Mahra tilted her head at him, considering his words. In the back of her skull, she felt a buzzing, the barest whisper that she could almost hear. Solas, 'pride'.  </p><p> "Well met," Mahra replied, "I suspect you came to see Ostagar?" She gestured at the looming ruin on the edge of the village. Solas nodded, he seemed about to speak but he paused with a faraway look in his eyes. </p><p> "Yes, as I am sure many others before me have." He said at last, "Though it might be prudent to hire a guide for the Wilds. I have traveled alone for a time, and I feel that a change of pace is in order. Is there anyone you would recommend?" Mahra's stomach flip flopped in her belly. His speech was eloquent, and his intonation seemed to imply that he was asking her to join him. That, and his manner of asking gave her an easy way out if she wanted to take it.</p><p> "The battlefield is supposedly haunted, most people avoid it," Mahra said, almost playfully, "The Wilds themselves are full of wolves as well. Depending on how deep into the swamp you want to travel, you will have a hard time finding one guide willing to take you everywhere you wish." She laced her fingers behind her back, beginning to walk. Solas smiled, picking up on her intent. He followed, keeping pace with ease.</p><p> "Is that so?" He mused aloud, "I did not know it would be that dangerous. But I noticed that you did not say it would be impossible to find such a guide." Mahra grinned and laughed.</p><p> "I didn't say that, true." She stopped, turning to look, "I know the Wilds better than most here, along with many of her secrets, I could be persuaded to take you there." Their eyes met, and the tightness in her heart increased. She knew him somehow, but she didn't remember where she knew him. He would play a part in the disaster that she knew was coming, but she had yet to find out what that even was. </p><p> "I am told I can be very persuasive," Solas said, holding her gazing. He was flirting back, and Mahra felt a little flustered. "If we happen upon lost treasures, I will be glad to share with you." <br/> Treasure was tempting, and she'd been meaning to revisit the places from her memories. Places Lyna had been when she first came to Ostagar. Mahra saw it in her dreams, as though she was following the Hero of Ferelden. Something told her that Solas would be able to answer questions that no one else could. Mahra agreed to be his guide.</p><p> They met in the morning at the edge of the village, before walking to the ruin of Ostagar. It had been largely avoided by the people living nearby, picked mostly clean by treasure hunters and explorers. Grit crunched under their bare feet, and Solas's walking stick made a steady tap on the stone. Solas expressed that he wanted to spend more time there, but the lure of the Korcari Wilds' secrets appealed to him more, and would be a better use of Mahra's time. </p><p> Mahra led him through the bones of the military encampment, faint whispers of conversation carried on the breeze. She knew these whispers, dreaming here made her memory clearer. They passed what was left of the mabari kennels, and the voice of the kennel master soothing a sick dog floated by. She felt a thread of fondness pull on her heart, as it always did there. Lyna had saved the dog from a terrible fate. </p><p> Their path led them down into the swamp, and she followed the ghosts of the Wardens' steps. Solas did not ask her why she was so certain of the way, though if he had asked Mahra could easily brush it off as her familiarity with the landscape. They walked for a couple hours before they found a crumbling tower. An empty chest sat under some rubble, still visibly ornate.</p><p> "This was a Grey Warden outpost," Mahra explained, "That chest supposedly held the treaties that the powers of Ferelden could use to call for aid during the Blights." She didn't say that it was for sure, even as a long dead Warden recruit suggested that the group might be turned into frogs. </p><p> "That means that here is as good a place to rest as any," Mahra paused, giving Solas an inquisitive look. "I am fond of naps." He said simply. She decided not to say anything and instead began to observe the surrounding swampland. She saw a few nugs wandering around, but the deer were scarce. The wind carried nothing of the scent of deer, the scent marks of her wolf friends was stale. She listened to the birds calling, and was satisfied by what she heard in their gossip. The two elves were the only threats in the area. <br/> </p><p>Each form she'd taken expanded her senses, sharpening her vision, hearing, and sense of smell. She'd learned the language of beasts, though some dialects were too foreign still. Reptiles, she needed to learn to become some kind of reptile to understand them. Becoming a hawk let her understand birds, and her various mammal forms gave her the ability to commune with most of the beasts she met. </p><p> Solas's breathing regulated, deep and slow. He was asleep on some flat stones, his hood pulled low over his eyes and his walking stick propped up on the stones next to him. Many travelers used walking sticks, and there were people who used the quarterstaff as a weapon. She'd made sure to practice with it but she refused to own a mage's staff. And brush with her magic told her that's what Solas had, a staff. He was an apostate too. </p><p> Mahra put down the urge to feel for his magic, like Keeper Marethari had all those years ago, but she didn't want to violate him in his sleep. It was invasive, but something told her now that it was also intimate in the right circumstances. Solas was handsome, well spoken, and very curious. Everything about him made her want to get closer, to learn more. But a weight in her core told her that it would only end in heartbreak. To stay away. Why?</p><p> The Veil seemed to wrinkle around him ever so slightly, and she felt the presence of spirits pressing against it. Mahra tensed, watching the sleeping mage with interest. She trusted her ability to ward off ill-meaning presences, but she was loathe to face an abomination. Instinct told her that he would be fine, so she climbed the stone walls to an area flat enough to sprawl in. Might as well, this could be a while. <br/> </p><p>After the first hour, Mahra got bored enough that she started to sing. Softly as not to wake the man who'd hired her. The words had come to her one day, and she'd known it was from another life. The old life was fragmented, but some things came back to her more easily than others. She'd written her journals in letters from a language that only she knew. She wrote songs, memories as they came. </p><p> "<em>I am my mother's savage daughter</em>," She sang in a low voice, "<em>The one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones. I am my mother's savage daughter. I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice</em>..." She trailed off, writing the words in her journal. This song was new, she wanted to make sure she remembered it. In her distraction, she didn't realize that Solas had stirred.</p><p> "You do not need to stop on my account." He said, his voice thick with residual sleep. Mahra jumped in surprise, making him laugh. She frowned down at him.</p><p> "I- I'm still working on it." She sputtered, the skin on her neck and ears burning with embarrassment. Solas just smiled at her.<br/> </p><p>"You write songs?" He was interested, "I would like to hear one if you do not mind." Mahra bit her lip.</p><p> "Well, I suppose. They come to me, already written like they were whispered in my ear. I just record them so I don't forget." Solas's eyes lit up. Violet, how different.</p><p> "Indulge me Mahra," He requested, "Please." Her skin burned hotter at the thought of singing in front of others. These songs were private, memories of something so different and old. Solas would like it, that was a given. Why did she know that? Mahra took a breath to steel her resolve and sang.</p><p> "<em>My mother's child is a savage, she looks for her omens in the colors of stones. In the faces of cats, in the fall of feathers, in the dancing of fire and the curve of old bones.</em>" Solas listened intently, relaxed but alert. Mahra had his full attention and she knew it, "<em>I am my mother's savage daughter, the one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones. I am my mother's savage daughter. I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice</em>."</p><p> Mahra sang louder, her voice rising in strength and the words coming more easily. "<em>My mother's child dances in darkness. And sings heathen songs by the light of the moons. And watches the stars, and renames the planets, and dreams she can reach them with a song and a broom.</em>"</p><p> She remembered it more clearly, "<em>My mother's child curses too loud and too often, my mother's child laughs too hard and too long. And howls at the moon and sleeps in ditches, and clumsily raises her voice in this song. Now we are all brought forth out of darkness and water, brought into this world through blood and through pain. And deep in our bones, the old songs are wakening, so sing them with voices of thunder and rain. We are our mothers' savage daughters, the ones who run barefoot cursing sharp stones. We are our mothers' savage daughters, we will not cut our hair, we will not lower our voice</em>." When she finished singing, she began to write the words in her journal with a fury. Solas didn't interrupt her scratching at paper, waiting until she was finished to speak.<br/> </p><p>"You possess a beautiful voice," He said, "Have you considered becoming a minstrel, or a bard?"</p><p> "And have to learn fancy instruments and courtly manners?" Mahra scoffed, "Never." Solas raised a brow.</p><p> "Never? How can you be so certain?" That question dangled a memory in front of her mind like a carrot before a stubborn mule. Her mind showed her grand gowns, masquerade, glittering gold and gemstones. Mahra blinked and it was gone.</p><p> "<em>Fenedhis lasa</em>," She growled under her breath, making her way down to the ground where Solas was preparing himself to continue. He definitely knew what his questions did to her, and he enjoyed seeing her become frustrated. It was very him. She wasn't sure how she knew. Solas, blessedly, didn't push her further than that on the topic of singing and noble company. Instead he walked around the building, digging under a sturdy old deathroot plant. He lifted an old signet ring from the dirt, dusting it off and turning it over. Mahra stared.</p><p> "I suppose you have noticed by now," Solas pocketed the ring, clapping dirt from his hands and taking up his staff again. Mahra waited for him to clarify, but he was patient. He wore a knowing expression.</p><p> "That you're an apostate?" She asked, "Though, I suppose the fall of the Circles means every mage is an apostate." She stuffed her hands in her pockets, bouncing on the balls of her feet. </p><p> "Very astute." Solas replied, "I am an apostate, though I always have been. Same as you." Mahra stiffened, eyeing him warily. "I am a <em>somniari</em>, a dreamer. I have come here to explore the past, learn from it, by looking through the fade."</p><p> "That explains why the Veil wrinkles around you while you sleep," Mahra said, unnerved at how easily he noticed her secret. One of her secrets. She never felt his magic, he hadn't touched hers. Solas nodded.</p><p> "I saw much here, but history did not compare to what I sensed from you." Mahra's eyes snapped to his, "Your mere presence bends the Veil in ways that should not be possible for a mage who is not actively trying, you are powerful, and yet spirits keep their distance." There was a glint in Solas's eyes now, a hint of storm in the purple, he seemed more predatory than before. A wolf in sheep's clothing, her mind supplied.</p><p> "I am not an average mage," Mahra said, keeping her tone even and her body relaxed, "Keeper Marethari of clan Sabrae confirmed it. The fabric of my spirit is woven from old threads and new." She didn't know why she told him, but she loathed that know-it-all attitude. Solas regarded her calmly, like a beast looking for weakness in its prey, Mahra's heart pounded in her throat.</p><p> "Souls cannot be reborn," He said, his tone level and his eyes looking over her carefully.</p><p> "They can, at least the Aavar believe it to be so. The Dalish tell stories of ancient elves returning from <em>uthenera</em>. Perhaps lost souls can become new, like unraveled spirits, but retaining what they were before." Mahra replied, growing frustrated at his strange change in behavior. She knew he wasn't going to harm her in the way most young women would fear, being alone with a strange man. But his stalk and kill posture made her very angry. "By all that is divine, will you stop that?"</p><p> Solas paused, perplexed, "Stop what?"</p><p> "You look like a wolf ready to spring on a loose halla!" She snapped at him, "You have questions, ask them. I will not tolerate your menace."  The man in front of her changed, from predator to scholar. The transformation making her wonder if he was a shapeshifter as well. He began to laugh, to her surprise and further irritation. </p><p> "Ah," He said, his tone shifted to one of amusement, "<em>Ir abelas</em>, I was not aware I was being menacing." He emphasized the last word, a sparkle in his eyes. "To your credit, it seems that it did not work." Mahra huffed at him.<br/> </p><p>"<em>Dirthara-ma</em>," she scowled, "Did you want to see more of the Wilds or shall I leave you here?" Solas put his hands up in faux surrender, a gesture <em>Babae</em> often made when <em>Mamae</em> teased him a little too aggressively. Mahra felt endeared to him, but she also had the urge to punch him in the face. <br/> </p><p>"<em>Ir vira've Se</em>," Solas said, stepping aside for her. Mahra pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at him. Solas smiled, understanding her meaning well enough. From the ruined Warden tower, it wasn't terribly far to the rotten splinters and empty stone and wood structure that once made up the old hut. A Witch once lived here, ancient, with her many daughters. Flemeth, her memory reminded her. <em>Asha'bellanar</em>. </p><p> Mahra had been here a few times, the first visit she'd managed to rescue a few unrotted pages from Flemeth's old tomes. Trying to read them was less satisfying than she'd hoped, since she hadn't the rest of the book for context.</p><p> "The Witch of the Wilds used to live here," She said, "<em>Asha'bellanar</em>, though she liked the name Flemeth I'm told." Solas eyed her curiously, but didn't share whatever was on his mind. Mahra poked around the stones that made up the floor, idly wondering if there was a loose rock with treasure underneath. "Are you going to sleep again?" She asked. Solas shook his head.<br/> </p><p>"No, it shall be late soon enough. If I sleep now I will not be able to sleep tonight." He tapped the stone with the butt of his staff, "This is sheltered enough, a good place to camp perhaps." Mahra shrugged.</p><p> "Yeah, sure." She said, "Though if we're going to be here for a time, I'm in the mood for another kind of company." Solas's brows went up, and he seemed struck speechless. Mahra grinned at him, "My pack." She said, "Wolves. What did you think I meant?" Solas simply deposited his bag on the floor and began to make space on the floor for his bedroll.<br/> </p><p>Mahra stepped outside, the sun was beginning to coast low in the sky. Were she on her own, Mahra would have no trouble finding a safe place to sleep, but she'd forgotten that people often had other ideas. She summoned her magic, tugging at her throat. Then she howled, using the intonation that her pack used to say, "I'm lonely." She waited a beat and listened to the chorus that answered her call.</p><p> "They are coming?" Solas called out from the hut.</p><p> "<em>Vin</em>," she affirmed, "I'll wait out here, if they see you before me, they may get protective." </p><p> "<em>Ma serannas</em>, I would rather not face the ire of your pack." He replied, "On that note, I shall wait before collecting firewood." A howl sounded again, closer now. Mahra answered it with one of her own. Like in her song. Solas watched her curiously. Her face lit up, she must have spotted the wolves, and then a big grey blur slammed into her at nearly full sprint. She was knocked out of his view, several more high speed beasts following. He could hear her yelp and shriek with laughter.</p><p> "Ow! You-" She sputtered out of sight, "Hey!" Her laughter, big and uncontrollable and approaching hysteria. Solas peeked outside to see her at the bottom of a dogpile. One wolf spotted him, and the rest took notice, turning eyes on him with tense postures. "Hey, he's okay. He's fine. Not a baddie." Mahra's voice was muffled from somewhere within the fur. The wolves relaxed visibly. They jostled aside as the elven woman pushed her way out, looking quite a sight. </p><p> The long coiled braid at the base of her neck came loose down her back, flyaway hairs pointing every direction. Some of them hers, some of them wolf. Her clothes were muddied and disheveled, and skin smeared with dirt. It was, to be frank, adorable. Solas hid a grin behind his hand. </p><p> "You think it's so funny, you want to try it?" She threatened, though the severity of the statement was lessened because she began to laugh anew. Solas though it was a beautiful laugh, unable to prevent himself from joining in. Sensing the mood, the largest of the wolves came to sniff at his face with paws on his shoulders, easily off balancing him and knocking him down. </p><p> The moment Solas touched the dirt, they were on him, no less enthusiastic in their greeting. There was a flurry of fur, paws, cold noses, and friendly snuffling. When Mahra pushed the great beasts off of him, he was just as mussed as she was. </p><p> "<em>Ir abelas</em>," She apologized, "I wasn't expecting them to pile on you too." Solas shook his head, rubbing a sore spot on his chest where his wolf jaw talisman rested. He expected a bruise in the morning.</p><p> "I prefer it to being bitten, I am fine," Mahra grinned sheepishly at him. "I will go collect wood for a fire now." She offered a hand to help him up, a hand he took, and went to make her bedroll. They made their fire in the ruins of the hearthstones. Food was cold, simple travel fare.</p><p> Solas counted nine wolves in Mahra's group, making a mental note of the leadership. The mated pair and their offspring from various litters. That odd elven woman was feeding them tidbits from her satchel, the order could have seemed random but to the trained eye she obeyed their hierarchy. </p><p> "Where do you fall in the leadership, I wonder," Solas said, watching her. She'd finished feeding the wolves and lounged on her bedroll in the middle of a less chaotic pile, "Mages tend to place themselves as the master of the others, but you do not bend them to your will." Mahra's nose and brows wrinkled into a scowl.</p><p> "Walking into an established group and deciding to be the boss? That's more of a <em>shem</em> thing." Solas tilted his head, inviting her to continue. "I defer to Beau and Threefang when needed. I'm older than their pups, so I could be considered higher up in the barking order."<br/> </p><p>"Beau and... Threefang?" Solas asked. Mahra shrugged.</p><p> "Beau is Beau, he's sweet to his mate and a bit of a fop. Loves to keep his paws out of puddles. Threefang is..." She reached over to the wolf called Threefang and lifted its lips. One of the beast's lower canine teeth was missing, "You can see why I call her Threefang." Threefang mouthed at her hand gently, Mahra didn't seem to notice, or at least care, at all. "They let me join, invited me. I follow the rules when we hunt, otherwise I'm just a friend." Several tails wagged when she said the word 'friend'. They could understand her, or the meaning behind the word.<br/> </p><p>"I see." Solas said, retreating into his thoughts. He'd noticed Mahra Parel's unusual aura in the village, the hint of strange magic that clung to her. She was small, waifish like most elves he saw, but there was a knowing and power in her silver eyes that drew him in. She carried herself with pride like the elvhen of old, refusing to bend to make humans comfortable. She didn't have a staff, or she didn't want to carry one, but she seemed at least adept in shapeshifting magic. To have joined a pack of wolves, she would have to be. She also claimed to have an old soul, but he would have to look more into that subject. The mystery was intriguing.</p><p> "The pack will tell us if anything comes lurking, we can both rest easy," Mahra's voice pulled Solas back to the present. Her brow was quirked slightly in his direction, but she didn't say anything in regards to his thoughtful expression. Solas was pleased that she respected his privacy as his <em>ghi'lan</em>, though he almost wanted her to ask. It would seem less prying for him than if she initiated the conversation. And he would be able to question her more. <br/> </p><p>She lay down, disappearing into the pile of fur. It wasn't long for her to drift into sleep, and Solas slipped into the fade shortly after she did. One of the wolves, neither Beau nor his mate Threefang, snored softly as insects chirped in the swamps.</p><p> Mahra led Solas from ruin to ruin in the waking world, exploring the memories on her own for some of the nights. She hoped she wouldn't run into him in the fade. During the days, after any sleep, he would find some odd or end that he collected, promising to let her take her share upon return to her village. The wolves stayed close, leaving to hunt and returning after feeding. <br/> </p><p>The Korcari Wilds were endlessly interesting, no matter how many times Mahra visited. After several days of wandering, they returned to Ostagar, to the battlefield. </p><p> "When we return to <em>Banal'ras Banalhan</em> tomorrow," Mahra said, "I will take my leave of you then." Solas was quiet watching her as she spoke, "I have a feeling it will not be the last time we meet." He raised a brow at her, but she had turned away. </p><p> Their last night, they sheltered more carefully. Her wolves would not follow her so close to the village, but Mahra had keen senses. Solas did not let down his guard, but he let her think she did. He caught a glance at her journal, not recognizing the code she wrote it in. Curiouser and curiouser.</p><p> The morning came quickly enough, Mahra selected a couple Grey Warden items from the old trinkets Solas found hidden in the Wilds. He didn't ask why, for which she was grateful. It would be important later, it was all she knew about that. She bid him farewell, and he watched her back disappear into the crowd as she walked away. Her muddied clothing, the sword and dagger on her hips, the long brown braid that fell almost to the thigh.</p><p> "If this is not the last we meet," he murmured softly, "Then I shall look forward to seeing you again." Solas waited until she was out of sight before he left, There was much for him to do.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Song - Savage Daughter by Wyndreth Berginsdottir</p><p>Banal'ras Banalhan - Shadow Blight, "Shadow of the Blight"<br/>Fenedhis lasa - A swear phrase, best translation is "Fuck me with a wolf cock"<br/>Somniari - A Dreamer<br/>Uthenera - Eternal Walking Dream<br/>Ir abelas - I am sorry<br/>Dirthara-ma - A swear, "May you learn"<br/>Ir vira've Se - "I walk behind you", I follow you<br/>Asha'bellanar - "Woman of many years"<br/>Vin - Yes<br/>Ma serannas - Thank you<br/>Ghi'lan - [a] guide</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Mien'len</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Twenty seven years old now. Word spread of Divine Justinia's Conclave. A meeting at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, in the mountains near Haven. Hope for peace between the Templars, Mages, and the Chantry. Banal'ras Banalhan was holding its breath. The Parels were not.<br/>
 </p><p>Mahra warned Diren and Elmet that this was the important time. She could feel it in the pit behind her sternum and ribs. It was going to be ugly, and she wanted them safe. Out of harm's way. She hugged her parents in a tearful and solemn farewell, she didn't tell them thank she had no idea if she was going to make it back. <br/>
 </p><p>When there was only a few days before the Conclave, she prepared. She filled her bag with a few things, the odd trinkets she'd collected, the only clothes she owned. Hair braided tight with spiked leather strips woven in. Sword on her left hip and dagger on her right, next to a small quiver with a few arrows. She had a short bow, small, and carried a simple quarterstaff as a walking stick. Old mended leather armor she'd found in the Wilds, the smell of rot scrubbed out. No one could mistake her for an apostate, mages didn't use martial weaponry.<br/>
 </p><p>Mahra got out of sight, away from her village, then became an eagle and took to the sky. She traveled northwest, making swift time. Redcliffe passed below, the Hinterlands a mess of chaos. The earth itself scorched. As she crossed the Lake Calenhad, there was an upheaval as the sky itself rent open. <br/>
 </p><p>A ripple twisted and rolled through the air, it was all Mahra could do to hold her form together. She watched cracks appear in the fabric of reality, magic seeping through. Now she knew her destination, the sickly green break in the sky over the mountains. She beat her wings, aching from the several days of flying, but she pushed herself faster than before to get there.<br/>
 </p><p>Haven was in a panic, the layout of the pilgrimage town ringing familiarity in her mind. Warriors, mercenaries, scouts, people of all races and types kept demons away from the civilians. Mahra landed a distance down the mountain, a private area, to return to her own body. </p><p> The exertion ache lingered, as it always did when she shifted. Her arms felt heavy and leaden, but she white knuckled her grip on her quarterstaff and hiked the way to Haven. She arrived in time to assist in defending a Chantry sister from a large mass of black slime. It smelled acrid, burning her nose, but she could ignore the discomfort.</p><p> The soldier gave her a look, she saw the glance at her ears and weapons, but this was an emergency. Who cared if elves took up arms to help? The home guard was able to draw back after the wave ended, and she followed inside the walls. Faces caught her eye, names mentioned that she knew but didn't know. Her instincts had brought her to the right place it seemed. </p><p> Mahra found a hidden spot, away from others, and tucked her belongings out of sight. A look around for possible witnesses, and she pulled the weeds and snow smoothly over the bag. She darted back to the bulk of the area and slipped into the bustle and panic. Injuries were patched, the frightened masses comforted. She avoided the preaching of the Chantry, a twinge of disgust in the muscles of her throat. </p><p> She hunched her shoulders, kept her eyes down to avoid suspicion from the humans in charge. Because humans were in charge here. There was a scattering of dwarves and qunari that were in the process of leaving, many humans and elves too. Some stuck around to help, but it was mostly humans. Mahra didn't want to stand out, so she acted like a city elf. She'd seen the alienage elves, she could play pretend.</p><p> The benefits of being an elf in a human environment was the anonymity. Most humans didn't bother to keep track of them, memorize faces, unless there was trouble. She ducked and wove through the commotion, watching a group of soldiers drag a small body into the Chantry. Not a corpse, but important enough to be placed elsewhere. Recognition connected in her chest as she spotted a flash of green on the person's hand. That would be important later.</p><p> Mahra was applying elfroot poultice to a burned shoulder when she heard voices, a sense of familiarity, but one connected stronger then the others. She kept her mask on and head down, hoping no one noticed her waver. The elf she had guided through the Korcari Wilds almost a year ago was in Haven, Solas.</p><p> He bundled up, but she would know him anywhere. He was walking to the Chantry with several flanking soldiers, a templar among those. Guiding him was a hardened looking woman with a crown of braids that had been called 'Lady Seeker', or 'Seeker Pentaghast' by those beneath her in the chain of command. She was one of the top. She was important too, as was the dwarf who trailed behind her.</p><p> "That's the author, Varric Tethras," A healer nearby whispered to her friend, "He was with the Champion of Kirkwall, why is he here?" That answered that question. So many importants in one place meant something, Mahra's chest and mind ached at the overload of information and connecting of threads. She wrapped the scout's shoulder and sent him off, burying the previsions as much as she could. </p><p> The healers paled, hoping not to notice the qunari mercenary that approached the tent. Mahra beckoned, not unfamiliar with Tal-Vashoth but certainly not skittish around them. She'd never been so close to one of the massive people, her small stature felt childlike next to the woman. She was bleeding from a gash in her eyebrow, which Mahra cleaned as best as she could. </p><p> "No, I've been needing another scar." Mahra froze, the qunari's hand on her wrist. She nodded, setting down the needle and thread, instead applying ointment to the clean slash down the woman's face.</p><p> "This will keep the skin soft so you can blink properly," Mahra said, "And it will stop the bleeding so you don't go weak with blood loss." The woman was about to say something, but Mahra interrupted, "I won't stitch it, but I won't let you leave before you are treated to the best of my ability."</p><p> The other people in the tent jumped as the qunari woman laughed, a loud deep belly laugh. "You've got guts, pipsqueak," She said, "The Valo-Kas could use your help, mind coming?" Mahra's gut turned slightly at the mention of the Valo-Kas, another name she knew. She followed the qunari to a group of mercenaries who were in the process of trying to patch each other's injuries.</p><p> "Shokrakar! Look what I found in the healer's tent!" The woman bellowed, making Mahra wince in surprise. The qunari who looked up first, Shokrakar probably, raised a brow. And Mahra thought the qunari next to her was big.</p><p> "An elf, Katoh?" Shokrakar asked, the other qunari peering at Mahra with skepticism and interest, "Ashaad is doing fine, we don't need another healer." A male qunari with a broken horn nodded, turning back to an unnamed companion's torn up chest.</p><p> "I like this elf," Katoh said, "She bossed me around." That got Mahra several raised brows.</p><p> "Is that so?" Shokrakar asked, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. "And this tiny thing thinks she can tell us what to do?" The woman was enormous, the greatsword sheath strapped to her hip didn't touch the ground. Her modesty was barely covered and muscles pulled the skin on her arms tight.</p><p> Mahra conjured up her courage, and stood straighter than she usually did, "I wouldn't be here if I thought I couldn't," She challenged. This one was the boss, which meant that if she earned Shokrakar's favor the others would probably listen, "That one over there is going to need more than poultice and bandages if he wants to fight any time soon. Unless your Ashaad can match my dexterity in stitching him up, I'm not going anywhere."</p><p> There were several moments of silence, the second moment being the one where Mahra questioned whether or not she was going to get to live another day. Then the entire band of qunari mercs began to roar with laughter. It would seem that plucky elves are hilarious, she lamented internally.<br/>
 </p><p>"You win this round, <em>Saar-Imekari</em>," Ashaad moved, letting her at his companion, "Though Kaariss may compose poetry in your honor and that will not feel like a reward." The injured qunari, Kaariss, protested at him, though permitted Mahra to examine the wound. It was ugly looking, but not deep. The skin was a bit shredded, she was proud of the stitches she sewed in. His scar would still look very nice. Considering how few of them wore shirts, it would be very visible too. </p><p> She listened to the mercenaries speak about what happened with the Conclave. They weren't inside the temple during the blast, but close enough to get caught in the first wave of demons. One of their own had been inside, Adaar, but they hadn't been seen since. They mentioned a Lady Nightingale, who had yet to pay them for the job, so they were going to stick around until the contract terms were complete. The names and job pinged at Mahra like a bell as she made her way to each of the injured Valo-Kas. These names, the job, they were important too. <br/>
 </p><p>Shokrakar told Mahra that they'd be back for her if there were more injuries in their group. Mahra told her her name, but the woman laughed. "I'll remember your name <em>Saar-Imekari</em>, but that is not who you are to us." They wouldn't tell her what that meant, to her chagrin. </p><p> She returned to the healers' tent, watching green balls of fire fall from what everyone was calling The Breach. That was another word that left her mind ringing. She was starting to get a headache. Too much prevision. Too many important things too quickly. </p><p> The initial rush of injuries caused by the explosion and Mahra had a chance to hear more about the destruction of the Conclave. The entire temple was a hole in the ground filled with rubble, no survivors with the exception of one. There were demons swarming the surrounding forest, and the muscle that could be spared was felling trees for fortifications. Walls were built up within hours, and the occasional boom could still be heard come nightfall.</p><p> The Valo-Kas sought Mahra out when she was lining up for rations. "You're eating with us <em>Saar-Imekari</em>. Let's go." She didn't object, though the looks she got from everyone in the area made her a bit nervous. The qunari were boisterous and uncaring of the stares, and she quite liked them. They filled a plate with their own food cooked at their own fire, and refused to listen when she insisted that it was too much. "You're too tiny, barely any meat on you. Eat." She argued, mainly to keep up her tough elf persona, but ate anyway. It was better than what the servant class was eating at least. </p><p> After dinner, she went to get her bag. Since she'd been adopted by a mercenary group, she might as well keep her stuff where no one would mess with it. Or with her. She missed Banal'ras Banalhan and how she never had humans look down on her and sneer. It made her angry, very angry. Her belongings hadn't been touched, so she dug them up and carried it back to the Valo-Kas camp near the Chantry. </p><p> They knew they made people nervous, and the Nightingale thought it prudent to avoid incidents regarding the prisoner. The dwarf Mahra had seen earlier, the one being dragged into the Chantry. Rumor around Haven was that he was responsible for the explosion and subsequent rifts. Though several soldiers reported that he'd been handed out of the fade by a woman made of light. Maybe Andraste. That information was a little contradictory.</p><p> "He didn't do it," Mahra remarked to Kaariss, who was writing by the fire, "A dwarf wouldn't be capable of that kind of thing. Had to be magic." Kaariss didn't see any fault in her logic, it was basic knowledge. Mahra didn't even have to claim a hunch. Katoh suggested that the dwarf was probably some kind of smuggler, could be a new magic weapon. Stronger than gaatlok at minimum. The smuggler part felt right, but the rest left Mahra uncertain.</p><p> The evening passed without much issue, though Ashaad had to go glower menacingly at a Chantry clerk who was calling for immediate execution of the marked dwarf. Mahra didn't like him at all, but he felt important too. Ashaad wasn't allowed to touch him anyway, just invited to look scary.</p><p> Katoh invited Mahra into her tent, though she was already sharing with another qunari introduced as Taarlock. He was a bit smaller than the others, but made up for the reduced muscle in intelligence. Thankfully, there was enough space for her to squeeze in, and she didn't mind sleeping in piles like she did in the Wilds with her pack.</p><p> "I can still keep ya safe <em>Saar-Imekari</em>, never fear," He teased. Mahra grinned at him, baring teeth.</p><p> "I'll have a go at you if you doubt my need for protection," She shot back, to the delight of the group. Katoh thumped her back hard enough to knock her off her seat, making everyone cackle. Mahra couldn't help but laugh with them. They compared her to some kind of Orlesian lapdog, small but vicious. She wondered if that was what <em>Saar-Imekari</em> meant. </p><p> The Chantry door opened, and Mahra overheard conversation from the two who stepped out. Solas and the dwarf Varric Tethras.</p><p> "Don't you ever laugh?" Varric was asking Solas, whose hunched posture did nothing to make him seem smaller than he was at the moment. Mahra had seen him stand taller, he was really tall.</p><p> "Only when something amuses me," Solas said, seemingly unconcerned with the chaos in Haven.</p><p> "If you insist, Chuckles." The dwarf was teasing him. The Valo-Kas watched them walk towards the small tavern in town, noticing Mahra's body tense up.</p><p> "You know them?" Shokrakar asked when the two left listening distance. Mahra nodded.</p><p> "I know the elf," She said, "I know of Varric Tethras, but I never met him. I didn't realize that they knew each other." Shokrakar shrugged.</p><p> "They just met, from what I hear," She said, "The apostate showed up a little while after you did, told the Seeker he's an expert on the fade. The Seeker had Tethras dragged here from Kirkwall." Mahra nodded as she listened. That all sounded right to her. Her guts twinged slightly.<br/>
 </p><p>"The mage, the one I know, he'll probably want to go look at the Breach." She said, "He's a scholar type, he's going to study it." She raised a brow at the qunari, "Anyone feel like taking bets?"</p><p> "Nah, you sound like you have an advantage." Taarlock said, "If you wanted to bet you shouldn't have told us that you knew him." Mahra winked, assuring him that she'd keep it in mind for next time.<br/>
 </p><p>That night, Mahra's dreams were fragmented, barely understood words and scenes. She saw swords class, claws rend, people burning alive. Running, terrified. Bright lights. The scent of blood and burnt flesh filled her nose. There was something else there, something lurking. She was hunted.</p><p> Mahra jolted up quickly, heart pounding. She was soaked in fear sweat. On either side, Katoh and Taarlock woke up looking for the danger. They reassured her that she was alright, that it was just a nightmare. The tent smelled of terror, but they helped her calm down and moved in closer. She was still anxious, but she felt safe enough to sleep again.</p><p> The morning after her nightmare, she was granted privacy to wipe herself down with warm water from a bucket. Being adopted in the Valo-Kas had privileges it seemed. She emerged to sunlight, Haven falling into rhythm. She ate with the qunari, listening to an agent of Lady Nightingale update the group on where they would be needed. </p><p> The agent eyed Mahra with curiosity, "And what is your place in Haven?" He asked, barely keeping the suspicion out of his voice.</p><p> "I was in the area when the Breach opened, I came to help. I was in the healers' tent yesterday, probably going to be there today." Mahra said. It was the truth, not all of it, but it was enough.</p><p> "She's with us now," Taarlock added, "Not officially." The scout nodded, still staring. He accepted the answer for the time being and left. Likely to report back to his superior.</p><p> "Someone will probably be by to check in on you later," Shokrakar told her, "They're wary of everyone now." Mahra nodded. She wolfed down the last of her campfire fare and made herself useful at the tent. There were fewer minor injuries to tend to, mainly people who were more seriously injured. They'd set up a forward camp, the healers there would tend to the front line wounded. </p><p> "Mahra?" She froze, looking up. Outside the tent, looking very surprised, was Solas. Varric Tethras at his side. "I thought I saw you yesterday."</p><p> "Hello Solas," She said, reapplying salve to an injured pilgrim, "Interesting place to go sightseeing." Solas smiled, lacing his fingers behind his back.</p><p> "I take it you two know each other." Varric said, "Name's Varric Tethras, author, you may have heard of me." Mahra smiled at him.</p><p> "That I have, Master Tethras," She said, "Pleased to meet you. My name is Mahra."</p><p> "Varric, please!" He laughed, "And that is the first I've seen Chuckles here smile since I got to this place." Solas glanced at him, face neutral again. "I'd ask how you met, but he wanted to go get a closer look at the Breach." Mahra quirked a brow.</p><p> "I take it you do not know these mountains as well as you know the Wilds," Solas said, "Otherwise I would ask you to be my guide." Mahra shrugged at him.</p><p> "First time this far west," She admitted, tying a bandage in place before wiping her fingers clean, "The way to the Breach is full of demons, I'd recommend you take a few fighting types with you."</p><p> "And what am I? Roast nug?" Varric joked, "Don't worry kid, we're smarter than that." Solas just nodded his head slightly in agreement. Mahra noticed a familiar figure power walk toward the path up the mountain. Recognition.</p><p> "I didn't say you weren't," Mahra smiled, "But if you come back injured I won't be so nice with you." Varric laughed.</p><p> "I would enjoy speaking with you longer," Solas spoke up, "However I would like to reach the temple some time today." </p><p> "Was that a joke, Chuckles? Never heard you make one of those before." Varric nudged him. "But you're right, Mahra right? We'll swing by later." Mahra nodded, waving them off before resuming her work. The lead healer still scolded her for gossiping while working. </p><p> She'd barely gotten back to work when she heard angry shouting. She looked up to see the woman, the Lady Seeker, making her way through a crowd. By her side was a bound dwarf, a sickly green light the same color as the Breach glowed in his palm. The Seeker did nothing as the townsfolk threw snow, bad food, and stones at the dwarf. Mahra frowned deeply, feeling a tug in her chest. He was at the center of this, but he was the solution, not the cause. </p><p> Hours passed, and there was another powerful ripple of magic. She looked at the sky, the Breach was still there, but she had a feeling that it wouldn't move anymore. Another prevision intuition. <br/>
 </p><p>When the dwarf returned to Haven, he was unconscious again, but alive. And the Breach was stable. He was accompanied by several very important people. The Lady Seeker, Lady Nightingale, Commander Rutherford, as well as Varric and Solas, and followed by a large number of fighting types. <br/>
 </p><p>Whispers began again, this time that the dwarf must have been blessed by the Maker to be able to stop the growth of the Breach the way he did. That the woman who handed him out of the fade really was Andraste. It felt wrong, but Mahra didn't voice that. This was important, and he needed it. His name spread too, Edric Cadash. Herald of Andraste.</p><p> Solas approached Mahra again shortly after, only to be chased off by the lead healer for distracting her. When she was finally relieved of her duties, he found her using snow to scrub her hands.</p><p> "What brought you to Haven, Mahra?" He asked coolly. Mahra fought to keep the tension from her shoulders as menace wavered in the edges of her perception. </p><p> "I was nearby, I saw the Breach open, I wanted to try and help." She answered frankly. Her back was to him and she felt like prey again, "Do you think I came looking for you?" Her tone was light, teasing. She hoped he didn't notice how nervous she felt.</p><p> "I was merely curious," Solas remarked, his tone neutral, "I recall when you told me that you believed we would meet again. You cannot deny that the timing is interesting." Mahra forced a laugh.</p><p> "We're living in interesting times," She said, standing up, "Especially after what I said before, any time we met could be viewed as unusual." She brushed the snow off her hands, looking up at him. His purple eyes were dark, searching her face. Mahra wasn't sure what he was looking for, or whether or not he found it. "It's a bias, Solas. If you look for interesting, you'll see it." His head tilted, so subtly it was almost unnoticed.<br/>
 </p><p>"You are an interesting woman," He commented. The tension Mahra felt eased and she realized that she'd forgotten to breathe. "I believe you are telling the truth, perhaps not the whole truth." He took a step closer to her. Mahra hadn't backed down from qunari, and this mage was no different. She stood firm.<br/>
 </p><p>"I've never lied, I don't like to," She said, "I believe that what happens here is important, I don't have to explain myself to you. <em>Mana</em>! <em>Halam sahlin</em>, I refuse to tolerate your menace." Solas almost took a step back, the darkness in his eyes gone with a blink.<br/>
 </p><p>"<em>Ir abelas</em>," He said. He seemed surprised, "I did not-."</p><p> "<em>Tel'abelas</em>!" Mahra hissed, "Control yourself. <em>Fenedhis</em>, Solas! Choose one, be nice to me or don't!" Solas frowned at her, seeming uncertain.</p><p> "You are... Unusual Mahra." He said slowly, "It is difficult to remain in control around you." He felt sincere, apologetic at least. Mahra glowered.</p><p> "<em>Dirthara-ma</em>, Solas. Don't test me again." She pushed past him, not caring that her shoulder knocked his arm. Back at the campsite by the Chantry, her friends noticed her stormy mood.</p><p> "Saw you talking to someone earlier," Katoh grinned at her, "What'd he do to get your knickers so twisted?" Mahra raised a brow at the woman and rolled her eyes.</p><p> "He's a man." She said dryly.<br/>
 </p><p>"So he's an idiot?" Katoh asked, returning the raised brow.</p><p> "Obviously." All of the Valo-Kas women and a few of the men laughed. The rest grumbled or protested weakly. They couldn't argue that point.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Saar-Imekari - Qunlat - Dangerous Child<br/>Mien'len - Dangerous Child<br/>Mana - Stop<br/>Halam sahlin - This ends now<br/>Ir abelas - I am sorry<br/>Tel'abelas - I'm not sorry<br/>Fenedhis - A curse word, "Wolf cock"<br/>Dirthara-ma - May you Learn</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dirthal Era'la</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took three days for Edric Cadash, the proclaimed Herald of Andraste, to wake. Mahra watched the dwarf make his way from the private cabin that had been prepared for him. She could sympathize with the look of confusion on his face as he walked through Haven to the Chantry. Last he walked these streets, he'd been jeered and scorned. Now he was revered. Cadash looked to be almost in a daze, taking in the scene around him. There was a moment of recognition in his eyes when in looked in Mahra's direction, but Varric stepped up from somewhere behind her and waved. Mahra had almost wondered if Cadash had a sense of knowing too. But it hadn't been her at least.</p>
<p> "Poor kid," Varric muttered as the dwarven Herald disappeared into the Chantry. "I don't envy the kind of fame he's got now."<br/>
 </p>
<p>"He's a dwarf who is supposedly chosen by a human goddess," Mahra remarked in a low voice, "It won't just be fame, will it?" Varric glanced at her.</p>
<p> "Nah, you're right. Infamy too." He conceded, "Solas said you'd be an interesting one, he was right about that." Mahra bristled slightly, hopefully not enough to be noticeable. "So what's your story?"</p>
<p> "My story?" Mahra asked, a bit confused.</p>
<p> "Yeah, tell me about you. I'm a storyteller, I like stories." He started walking, Mahra followed him closely enough to continue the conversation without shouting too much. "I'm not going to put you in a book. Probably. That depends." Mahra couldn't help but smile at Varric's charisma.</p>
<p> "Oh, not much of a story to tell, Varric," She said, "I lived in Gwaren until the blight, took a ship to Kirkwall. My family didn't get in the gates, of course. Refugees. We lived in Markham in the Marches for a time, came back to Ferelden after the war broke out. Southeast Hinterlands, near Ostagar. Lot of elves there, it was very nice." Varric listened to her rambling, holding back any questions that he might have had until after.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"Gwaren, huh? See a lot of people flee Ferelden that way?" He asked.</p>
<p> "Well, yes. We stayed as long as we could, but it was a close call." Mahra shrugged, "Any reason?"</p>
<p> "Well, a friend of mine came to Kirkwall on a ship from Gwaren," Varric tilted his head in thought, "Wondering if you were on the same ship." A name presented itself in the front of her mind like a whisper, but Mahra didn't say it out loud. She hadn't seen that one in particular.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"It's been ten years," She said, "I don't remember the faces so well anymore." Varric laughed and let it go. Though, Mahra would have liked to have met Hawke. "I did see the Mac Tir family around," She added, "Never liked the Teyrn, but the Teyrna was a lovely woman. She was actually the one in charge. And I always knew that Lady Anora was destined for greater things." </p>
<p> Mahra entertained Varric for some time with her stories, not her personal story, but the ones she knew about others. He told her a few in turn. They were a bit outlandish, but both of them knew how to add a touch of personal flair. Solas joined not long after, listening but not participating as much. He offered one or two short memories that he viewed in the fade. Looks like he'd decided to be nice.</p>
<p> Mahra had a moment of clarity as they sat at Varric's campfire, "I did meet the Keeper of Clan Sabrae once." That got Varric's attention, "My father and I went hunting and found them, didn't stay long, but she was nice enough."</p>
<p> "You met Marethari?" Varric asked, excited, "Did you see a mage named Merrill with them? Would've been the Keeper's First." Mahra shook her head.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"No, I was a child at the time," She admitted, though the name was familiar to her prevision, "Keeper Marethari didn't have a First when I was there, I think. Never met them. Though, I do believe I might've met the Warden, Lyna Mahariel. She was very young, very shy. Hid behind her friend the whole time I was there." Varric pushed for more information, but Mahra could truthfully say that everything else she knew about the Dalish hero was from other sources. Solas mentioned seeing Mahariel when dreaming in Ostagar. </p>
<p> Conversation drifted through a few topics, occasionally other people would jump in and leave. Mahra paused when a scout approached, asking for her to follow them somewhere more private. She resisted the instinct to touch her hip, making sure she was armed. She had left her obvious weapons in the tent, but concealed her dagger in her corset. Solas watched her closely as she stood to follow the agent of the Nightingale, but Varric continued to chat away.</p>
<p> "You are claimed by the Valo-Kas," The scout, a human man said, "But you are not known to the Chantry's records. What is your name and your intention in Haven?" He kept his voice even and his body language proper for a person on the job. Something in his eyes was strange, calculating, and left Mahra feeling on edge.</p>
<p> "My name is Mahra Parel," She replied, watching him write on a small board with a stick of shiny looking graphite wrapped in cloth, "I was near Haven when the Breach opened, and I decided to help." The human raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p> "You simply decided to help?" He asked, as though it was difficult to believe. In these times, Mahra supposed, it was.</p>
<p> "Surprisingly," She said. The man studied her, a slight crease in his brow. It was a bit irritating. "Is it so strange that an elf would see people suffering and want to do something about it?" The old knowledge in her mind teased her for playing the 'race card', but she delighted in the shocked look on the human's face.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"I-" He began, "Yes, no." Mahra suppressed a smile, tilting her head to the side as he stumbled over his words. "Thank you for your aid." The human opted for as polite an exit as he could muster and rushed away. </p>
<p> "Wow, that was a bit mean wasn't it?" Varric asked behind her. She jumped, yanking her blade from her bodice, "Woah, was that dagger in-? I mean, I didn't mean to scare you there."<br/>
 </p>
<p>"I'm okay," Mahra said quickly, taking a breath, "It's alright." She tucked the weapon into the sheath concealed between her breasts.</p>
<p> "That looked like one of Leliana's people," Varric said, pretending he hadn't seen that, "Probably trying to get a handle on things around here. It wasn't Cadash, so someone else did that." He paused, pointing at the Breach with his thumb, "They're likely to be investigating everyone." Mahra nodded, calmed down enough to notice the prevision tug at the mention of Leliana.</p>
<p> "Leliana, she traveled with the Grey Wardens, yeah?" She asked.</p>
<p> "Yeah, she's here now. Red's got a way of finding things out, if anyone in Haven is responsible, she'll get them." That didn't take much weight off of Mahra's shoulders.</p>
<p> "She's... Red is also Lady Nightingale?" She asked, "Just making sure I've got everything straight." Varric nodded, walking her back to the fire where Solas was waiting. He was looking at her the way he usually did, like he was studying a riddle. Curious, but uncertain. </p>
<p> Varric offered her some food while Mahra waved at Kaariss. He waved back, grin wide on his face. Both Solas and Varric gave her a curious glance, but didn't question her apparent friendship to several Vashoth, Tal or otherwise. Varric muttered something about never meeting normal elves, but left it at that. <br/>
 </p>
<p>"Chuckles?" Mahra asked at last. Solas almost choked on his drink.</p>
<p> "I nickname everyone, it's what I do." Varric grinned, "Still working on yours though. Chuckles here has no sense of humor, for one."<br/>
 </p>
<p>"I've found that he does," Mahra shrugged slightly, "Though it's usually at my expense." Varric leaned forward, expecting a good story.</p>
<p> "I have seen her tackled to the ground by a pack of wolves in a dead sprint," Solas supplied the memory, "It was very unexpected. Speaking of, how are they?" Varric was quiet, curious.</p>
<p> "Beau almost lost an eye to some rogue looking for territory," Mahra said, "Three-Fang had two pups during the summer that are growing quickly, and Nehn left the Wilds to start her own pack."</p>
<p> "You have a pack of wolves?" Varric asked.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"Was that not obvious?" Solas quipped, amusement clear in his more sarcastic tone, "Though they do not belong to her, as much as she belongs to them. Perhaps you should call her <em>Fen'asa'ma'lin</em>?"<br/>
 </p>
<p>"And what, pray tell, does that mean?" Varric replied, "I don't speak elf." He was snarking right back. Mahra liked his company.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"It means 'Wolf Sister'," Solas took another drink from his cup. Mahra didn't know what was in the cup and didn't ask.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"The Valo-Kas call me <em>Saar-Imekari</em>, but they won't tell me what that means," Mahra added, "But they've also compared me to Orlesian lap dogs. You don't have to pick something yet, I'm going to be around here for a while." Varric tilted his head from side to side, conceding the point. </p>
<p> "You keep giving me all this material, makes it more complicated," He grinned, "I'll figure it out eventually. Just one word to sum you up." Mahra tilted her head slightly.</p>
<p> "Material, huh?" She said thoughtfully, "If I end up in a book of yours, I better get something out of it."</p>
<p> "Yeah?" Varric laughed, big and from the belly, "Like what?"</p>
<p> "I leave that in your capable hands," Mahra grinned at him, tapping her temple, "You're not fooling me, you're an old softy." Varric gasped as though he'd been wounded. He clapped a hand to his chest as though it pained him.</p>
<p> "Ouch, kid," He said with a smile, "Old softy? You trying to hurt me?" And then Solas laughed, rather, he chuckled. Varric was delighted, Mahra made sure to emphasize that she'd told him so, and Solas left for his cabin in a poorly concealed rush. </p>
<p> Lunch was over, and it was now time for Mahra to get back to what she'd been doing before. Pitching in wherever she could. The mountainside was full of elfroot, and she learned that the alchemist Adan was in need of supplies for healing potions. It was shameful that everyone else was too busy or important to go pick herbs, so she volunteered. </p>
<p> She watched Inquisition banners go up with interest, the heraldic emblem was a seamless blend of Templar and Seeker. A sword through a flaming eye. Striking, though it was a pity that she couldn't see any elements from the Circle of Magi. </p>
<p> Mahra peered into an abandoned cabin as she found as she gathered elfroot, guessing by the accumulation of cobwebs that it hadn't been inhabited in almost a week. Adan had mentioned a mentor who died, he must have lived here. There was a gentle tug in her chest, and she followed the sensation to a desk covered in alchemy notes. Important. She grabbed them and marched back to Haven.</p>
<p> Adan was chuffed with her armful of elfroot, in a gruff and manly sort of way. He dropped the tough guy persona when she handed him the papers she'd found.</p>
<p><br/>
 "Taigen's notes?" His eyes were transfixed on the long scrawling script, "Old codger was onto a breakthrough, he just couldn't see it..." Mahra smiled, letting him get to work. He was an important person, and this would be good for Haven and for the Inquisition.</p>
<p> Shokrakar and Taarlock were by the Spymaster's tent. Red, Varric had called her. There was a hint of short red hair that hadn't been hidden by her hood, and Mahra guessed that was where her nickname came from.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"We did our job," Taarlock was saying, "We also did more than we agreed to in the original contract. One of ours died in the Temple. We're not joining the Inquision officially, but we're more than willing to sign on with a new contract..." There was a potential for the Valo-Kas to stick around? Mahra hoped they did, even if just for a little while. She'd come to love them, and would miss them dearly.<br/>
 </p>
<p>The Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast, a very important person, was standing over a soldier at an outdoor desk. People were writing their names on a list, joining the Inquisition officially, putting themselves on the record. Mahra stepped in line behind another elf, quietly pleased by the diversity. It was mostly human, it would always be, but she could be happy about being around non-humans too. </p>
<p> The Herald of Andraste, Edric Cadash, was walking through Haven. He was jumpy, nervous. Every time someone bowed to him or called attention to him, he looked spooked. Mahra pondered the name Cadash as the line moved slowly. The old memories were difficult to conjure up on command, but not impossible. A flash of templar armor pushed the information to the front of her mind. Lyrium. Cadash was part of the Carta, a lyrium smuggler. The explosion probably sent the rest of his group running for the hills and the Herald was worried about what they would do to him if they came back. No, not if. When. They would find out about him, and the fame was probably terrifying to the now ex-smuggler.</p>
<p> Mahra stepped to the front of the line. "Name, next of kin, and their town." The soldier said, pushing the paper towards her. Seeker Pentaghast eyed her curiously, but didn't say anything while Mahra filled in her line on the recruitment sheet. The Seeker's eyes glanced down at the paper as Mahra turned to walk away.</p>
<p> "Mahra Parel?" She said, Mahra stopped mid-step, "May I speak with you?" The Lady Seeker had a lovely voice, a musical Nevarran accent. Mahra swallowed her anxiety and nodded, following the towering woman to a more quiet spot.</p>
<p> "How may I be of assistance, Lady Seeker?" Mahra asked. Seeker Pentaghast stood almost an entire foot taller than her, the hardness in her eyes and scarred face lending themselves to her intimidating presence.</p>
<p> "You appear to have met the apostate, Solas, before," She began, "What is your relationship to him?" Mahra knew she was being evaluated, both she and Solas were under a careful eye.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"He hired me as a guide in <em>Banal'ras Banalhan</em>, the elven village near Ostagar," Mahra said, "I took him into the Korcari Wilds where the hunters wouldn't go. Too afraid of witches." The Seeker's face didn't change, scrutinizing every word, looking for any hint of a lie or admission of guilt.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"And what was his purpose in the Wilds?" The woman crossed her arms, the fabric of her tunic smoothed over her muscled arms. Mahra tried not to stare.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"He wanted to explore the ruins," She said, "Solas did not hide his apostasy from me, he wanted to sift through the memories he found in the ruins." Mahra rolled her shoulders, relaxing her posture slightly. "That was about a year ago, and I haven't seen him since then." It was always easier to tell the truth, even with some details omitted. Lying to important people would be folly, and make stopping the madness even harder.</p>
<p> "How well do you know the Hinterlands, miss Parel?" The Lady Seeker was being very polite, Mahra thought to herself. The Hinterlands would be a crucial location.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"Not as well as the Wilds, my Lady," Mahra confessed, "But I have traveled it a few times." Usually from the air but no one needed to know that, "A true scout would likely be of more use, but my survival instincts are sharp and I can hold my own in a fight." The Seeker nodded, thinking over Mahra's answers. </p>
<p> The Lady Seeker dismissed Mahra, seemingly satisfied. Mahra doubted that she would be forgotten so quickly, especially not with her prior relationship to the fade mage. Word on the street was that Solas was being taken into the Inquisition due to his knowledge of the fade and of demons. Their expert on the magic involved. He was the one who connected the mark on Cadash's hand to the Breach, and kept it from killing him. Solas's involvement is bigger than that, Mahra thought, but she didn't know why or how. Her gut and the buzzing in her skull told her as much.</p>
<p> Mahra trudged through the cold and frozen mud to the Valo-Kas tent. Digging through her satchel, she retrieved her journal and flipped to the next empty page. She sat outside, on one of the stools around the embers and ash of the night's fire. Slowly and meticulously, she recorded everything her previsions had sensed. The people, the emotions. She found the page from when she first met Solas, rereading the runic language she was born knowing. </p>
<p> "Hey <em>Saar-Imekari</em>, that your diary?" Mahra reeled, blade in hand again. It was Katoh. "You keep your dagger in your tits? That's pretty smart, I'd try it but-" Katoh groped her own chest and shrugged. </p>
<p> "<em>Fenedhis lasa</em>," Mahra swore, pressing her palm to her forehead, "Why is everyone sneaking up on me today?" Katoh laughed, not at her, but clearly entertained by how jumpy Mahra was. She picked up her book, thankful that it wasn't damp from the mud and slush. </p>
<p> Katoh's mind was somewhere else, "Tits and knives, that's two- no. That's three things I like!" Mahra didn't pay much attention to the rambling qunari, she wasn't in the mood to think too much on breasts and blades. She sat back down, making more notes. A melody came to mind and she hummed as she wrote, marking the end of the sentence with a dot.</p>
<p> "So, Katoh," Mahra said, closing her journal, "What'd you need?" Katoh sat down across the fire pit, hands on her thighs.<br/>
 </p>
<p>"The Valo-Kas is going to stick around for a while," She said, "But we're likely to be dispatched elsewhere. If shit needs to be killed, we'll be going to kill it." Mahra nodded, "You signed on with the Inquisition, right? We'll see each other around, but once we head out it's going to be a long time before we see you again. If we see you again." <br/>
 </p>
<p>Mahra stared at the massive woman, "No 'if'." She said, putting on a stern tone, "I will definitely be seeing you again. All of you." Katoh laughed, muttering about how their beloved elf really is a <em>Saar-Imekari</em>. They still won't tell her what it means. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dirthal Era'la - Telling Stories<br/>Fen'asa'ma'lin - Wolf Sister</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Venal Falon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Mahra was invited to the Hinterlands personally by the Herald. Solas had initially suggested it to Casash, and Varric had nothing but nice things to say about her. Even the Lady Seeker wasn't against bringing more help along. It was flattering to be considered. There were problems to consider, but Mahra put on a brave face. There would be plenty of time to worry on the road.</p><p><br/> Lady Pentaghast briefed them in the makeshift War Room in the back of the Chantry. Mahra could feel the history in the place, the blood in the stone. Memories that weren't hers hummed and echoed in her skull. “We don't owe you any explanations for our actions. We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven.” She blinked several times, focusing on the words in the here and now, rather than the whispers in her mind. </p><p><br/> "Our priority will be approaching Mother Giselle in the Crossroads," Lady Pentaghast was saying, "She has asked to meet with the Herald, and has information that she says will be useful for our purpose." Mahra noticed the way Cadash had flinched slightly at the title. "After that, we will approach the Horse master, Dennet. The Inquisition will require mounts, and his are the best. While in the Hinterlands, it would be wise to spread our influence with the populace. But that will come later." The Nevarran woman's musical accent made her pleasing to listen to, but the talking was finished and it was time to pack.</p><p><br/> Mahra was proud to tell the Valo-Kas that she'd been assigned on a mission before them, and a little smug as well. There were a few jabs exchanged, grins and punches to the shoulder. Mahra put her full weight behind her left hook, but she bounced right off. The sudden burst of laughter from the group startled almost everyone nearby. </p><p><br/> The few Inquisition horses and mules were being tacked when Mahra made it outside Haven's gates. The horses were massive, and she'd always been a bit small. Even for an elf. She couldn't even look over the smaller horse's back. There were only four steeds out too.</p><p><br/> "You might need to ride with someone else." Mahra turned, having heard the boot-steps approach, "I don't know what we have here, but this was the best they could do I suppose." Edric Cadash was standing behind her, eyeing the mules with suspicion. </p><p><br/> "We'll have to see who will take me, then," She smiled, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Mahra Parel, pleased to meet you Herald." The dwarf groaned.</p><p><br/> "I'm Cadash, Edric Cadash." He held out his hand, and Mahra clasped it, "Please don't start with the 'Herald' stuff, I'm not even Andrastian." Mahra gave him a sympathetic smile.</p><p><br/> "Pleased to meet you," She said again, though with a revision, "Cadash." The dwarf exhaled, relaxing visibly. "That bad?" He nodded, grimacing visibly under his coarse, braided beard. He ran a hand over his scalp, the blond hair probably a month grown after a full shave. There were old and new scars all over his head and face.</p><p><br/> "It's that sodding bad," Cadash grunted at her, "Could be worse though." The dwarf paused, contemplating the word, "It's going to be worse." Mahra raised a brow at him curiously. Cadash rolled his eyes, "The Dasher is going to loose his head when he hears I'm still kicking gravel." </p><p><br/> "I take it he's your boss?" Cadash glanced Mahra's way, "Former boss. I care more about the hole in the sky than in whatever you were doing before you came here. Maybe your new friends can do something about him." The Dasher sounded like a familiar term, but he wasn't important. Not for closing the Breach. </p><p><br/> "Maybe." Cadash nodded, checking the cinch of the mule's saddle's girth, "That can wait, we've got more urgent business." </p><p><br/> "You've got that right, Scruff." Varric was approaching. Looks like he already had a nickname for Cadash. "Hm, Scruff doesn't feel right either. Maybe Braids?" Or not. Mahra guessed that the two of them were a bit hard to pin down in one word. She found it funny that Solas, normally focused and weird as he was, had been nicknamed Chuckles. The hedge mage was endlessly exasperated by the title, which was even better in her opinion.</p><p><br/> Solas and Lady Pentaghast arrived not soon after. The Seeker looked at Mahra's assortment of weapons curiously, but didn't say anything about them. Not even the quarterstaff, a weapon popular with brigands. But she did point out that there were four mounts and five of them. </p><p><br/> "As the weediest person here," Mahra said, "I'm going to need to ride with someone. Probably." She'd rather turn herself into a beast than share a horse with either the Seeker or Solas. She was friendly with the odd apostate, but his presence prickled her more than she cared to show. He had the unfortunate habit of breaking her calm.</p><p><br/> Of course, she ended up in front of Solas. The Seeker's armor and gear weighed too much to comfortably accomidate an additional rider, even if she rode the larger horse. So Lady Pentaghast took the smaller horse and the elves took the bigger one. Mahra wasn't very comfortable with the long hours of close contact she was in for, but kept it close to her chest. Animals were one thing, people that made her nervous was something else entirely. She twisted her fingers into the gelding's mane.</p><p><br/> "<em>Ir abelas</em>," Solas apologized as Mahra was bounced and jostled. The saddle was just big enough to fit the two of them if Mahra sat slightly in his lap, and she was obviously uncomfortable. They both were. Varric thought it was hilarious that the two least touchy people were having to spoon the whole trip. That was how he phrased it.</p><p><br/> "<em>Emma souveri'or'shiral</em>." Mahra grunted bitterly. The horse under them decided to step with more enthusiasm, bouncing Mahra on Solas's lap making her squeak quietly. "<em>Ara seranna'ma</em>."</p><p><br/> "Anything you want to share, back there?" Cadash called, grinning wide at the pair's awkward situation. Varric laughed loudly.</p><p><br/> "I thought you two were already well acquainted," Lady Pentaghast was lightening up as they made their way southeast, adding a little teasing of her own.</p><p><br/> "Not this well," Mahra griped, then begged under her breath for the feisty steed to walk easy. "<em>Sathan safal, vira'atisha</em>." The beast's pace evened, lessening the discomfort of the ride. She relaxed slightly.</p><p><br/> "Hm," Solas hummed, "He listens to you." Mahra tensed up again, to Solas's amusement. </p><p><br/> "I asked nicely," She said, "It usually works." </p><p><br/> "You talked to the horse?" Varric asked, "And this is a thing that works?" Mahra shrugged at him, pretending not to notice Lady Pentaghast's curious glance. </p><p><br/> "I have a way with animals," She deflected. And subtly elbowed Solas in the ribs. He made a sound of protest but kept his mouth shut, thank whatever divine there was for small blessings. She heard Cadash snicker and grinned as innocently as she could.</p><p><br/> The first day on the road was uneventful, and they found a decent spot to camp with time to set up before dark. Cadash talked to Solas a bit about magic, the Fade, and dreams. Varric made a few notes in his journal, probably going to write another adventure book. Mahra approached Lady Pentaghast, who was trying to get the campfire going.</p><p><br/> "Lady Seeker?" She asked, standing on the opposite side of the twigs and tinder, "I'd like to have a look around, maybe nab a nug or two for food. Is that alright?" The Nevarran woman looked up, and gave her a nod before striking flint to steel again. </p><p><br/> Mahra secured the small quiver on her hip and tested the string on her short bow. She could feel eyes on her as she went over her gear, but she shrugged off the mild sense of paranoia. The woods off the road was like a sanctuary and the calm of the trees and singing of birds was soothing.</p><p><br/> She walked until she was long out of listening distance of her travel companions, until the heat on her back cooled and she no longer felt watched. She sat, nestled in the roots of a towering sapgum tree, and relaxed her back. Mahra relaxed her throat, inhaling deeply with her mouth and nose at the same time. She could taste the damp in the soil from thawed snow, scent the stale musk of deer days past. </p><p><br/> Inhale, exhale, inhale again. The voices of the birds sang of no concern, no people besides her camp by the road, no predators sighted nearby, no rifts in the Veil. She could feel the locations of nearby animals, the birds weren't worth hunting, but there were plenty of nugs nearby. Mahra opened her eyes and began to creep forward on light feet, following what felt like a many needled compass towards the sensation of beasts.</p><p><br/> With nearly silent footfalls and the breeze carrying her scent away from her prey, she stalked through the underbrush. Were she on her own, it would be easy enough to shape shift and hunt with tooth and claw. The killing blows would be difficult to explain to her companions though, especially since she needed to keep the hides. The inquisition would need materials for all kinds of things now.</p><p><br/> Movement in the shrubs caught her attention and she dropped low. The pale pink skin of a nug was practically glowing in the low light that filtered through the canopy. These were not creatures meant to hide in this environment, and it made them all the easier to catch. She slid an arrow from her quiver and nocked it in silence. The cording creaked slightly as she drew the bow, but the nug was snuffling through the dirt too loudly to hear it, too focused on foraging. Slow inhale, hold, then release. The arrow hissed through the air, piercing the nug's skull through cleanly. </p><p><br/> Several birds took off, shrieks of predators in the area echoing through the woodland. The birds she could sense made a hasty escape, but Mahra ignored them. Still low to the ground and stepping lightly, she inspected her kill. It was a good sized nug, fat on the insects and worms in the forest. She wouldn't need to hunt anything else tonight. Yanking her arrow free, she wiped it clean and began to field dress the nug. </p><p><br/> It was easy enough, a careful slice through the skin and muscle to the sternum from the belly. Cut and tie off the back end of the digestive tract, then open the diaphragm to cut the esophagus out. Then pull the guts out, as well as the less desirable organs. Mahra separated the liver, heart, and lungs, stowing them back in the cleaned carcass. Couldn't use all the offal while traveling, and leaving the entire gut pile to the scavengers wasn't wasteful, but she had her favorite parts.</p><p><br/> The blood drying on her hands was getting tacky, and Mahra tugged a rag from her pocket to clean herself. She dampened it with water from her water skin, and scrubbed her Terra-cotta hued skin until flushed scarlet. She'd deal with the blood under her fingernails later, though she scowled and huffed about feeling dirty first. </p><p><br/> Mahra secured her bow over her shoulder and took the nug's hind feet in one hand and forefeet in the other. It was a short trek back to the campsite in rapidly dimming light. As she approached the fire, she purposefully stepped on twigs and kicked the undergrowth, letting the noise announce her presence.</p><p><br/> "Mahra? You back?" She heard Cadash call.</p><p><br/> "Yeah!" She hollered back, "Be there in a moment!" She picked up her pace, not bothering to conceal the sound of her movement but not crashing through the woods either. Lady Penaghast helped her skin and butcher the nug, while Varric tossed the organ meat in a pot of various root vegetables and seasonings they'd packed. As dinner cooked, Mahra sat to rest and finish scraping dried blood from her nails. She felt a cold tingle of magic brush her skin, making her squeal in alarm and jump back to standing.</p><p><br/> "Are you alright?" The Seeker looked at her concerned. Mahra's face and ears burned, and she hoped that her blush wasn't apparent in the firelight. She rubbed at the goose pimples on her arm.<br/> "Sat on a sharp stone or something," She glibbed, maybe a little too quickly. The woman raised a sharp brow, not believing her for a single second, but let the matter drop. </p><p><br/> "<em>Ma'easha Uralas'falon</em>?" Solas asked from behind her, as casually as he was commenting on the weather. </p><p><br/> "<em>Ahn</em>!?" Mahra gasped and whirled, forgetting her calm, "Solas!" The force in her scolding tone silenced the camp in an instant. There was a beat of quiet, Mahra's skin flushing hotter.</p><p><br/> "It is true," Solas said factually and smiled at her, a mischievous look on his face, "You blush a marvelous shade of pink." The others burst into a bout of roaring laughter, Mahra clapped her hands over her face.</p><p><br/> "Now that you mention it, Chuckles," Varric gasped as soon as he could breathe again, "Ah, I know what to call you now! Coral!" Mahra huffed through her fingers, indignant and thoroughly flustered. Cadash wheezed, catching his breath and wiping away tears. Even Lady Pentaghast was trying to calm herself. Solas gave Mahra a shrug, rather pleased with himself. She scowled. </p><p><br/> The next day, the mood of the riders felt lighter. There was more conversation in general, and their voices were friendlier and more boisterous. Lady Pentaghast was offended when Varric brought up her stabbing his book. It was hilarious, especially because Mahra could swear she'd actually seen the Seeker do so. She didn't say it out loud, but she did laugh a lot. Cadash shared an anecdote or two from his life as a 'merchant' prior to the Inquisition, talking about his old team. Solas told them that Mahra could sing. And caught her elbow before she could jab him in the ribs again. </p><p><br/> "Come on, sing something for us Coral," Varric urged, making her blush the color of her nickname. Mahra groaned, but relented to a song she'd recalled some years before without any words that would be odd. Many of the songs she knew were strange.</p><p><br/> "<em>I've seen many men wandering, all strong bold and keen. Seen them grow into rulers, but I long for the sea. Heard a ship came from north to our harbor for a day and before misfortune knows, I'll be on my way</em>," Mahra sang, tapping a rhythm on her thighs, "<em>I'm all set to veer away and I'm all set to go astray. All burdens I will leave ashore to find what I've been longing for</em>." </p><p><br/> She could hear the others clap along, their enjoyment making her sing with a stronger voice, "<em>Don't tell anyone that this night I'll be gone, greeting the eternal blue right at the break of morn. Sailing towards the unknown with my crew on the sea, and the day I return a hero I shall be. I'm all set to veer away and I'm all set to go astray. All burdens I will leave ashore to find what I've been longing for</em>." She repeated the chorus, letting the last notes trail off before she swept the best bow she could manage on a man's lap on a horse. She got a face full of horse hair for the effort.</p><p><br/> "You're from Gwaren right? You hear that from a sailor?" Cadash asked. Mahra shrugged, picking a bit of mane from her tongue.</p><p><br/> "Maybe, I don't remember where I heard it." Completely true, every word. "And don't make me sing too often. I'll start demanding coin for it. Lots of coin." Varric laughed.</p><p><br/> "I thought about being a bard in my youth, not the Orlesian kind," He began, though the Seeker chimed in.</p><p><br/> "You tell a lot of stories, Storyteller. Not all of them true," They laughed while Varric put on an affronted face. </p><p><br/> "A liar? Me?" Varric asked, "That's how I got into writing! I'll even prove it." He started singing. His voice could have been nice, if he could carry a tune. Lady Pentaghast threw something at him to make him stop singing. </p><p><br/> "Well no wonder you never became a minstrel," Cadash laughed, "Actually, you should've. Sing like that and people would make you rich just to shut you up." Mahra winced at the jab, but laughed harder. </p><p><br/> This was nice, she'd spent her life preparing for the cataclysm she'd always known was coming. Now that it was here, she'd found companionship. Tense at times, but it felt good. Mahra had never realized how much she'd craved the feeling of belonging. Now that she'd tasted friendship, she would fight her damnest to keep it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Venal falon - Finding friends<br/>Emma souveri'or'shiral - I am weary of [this] journey<br/>Ara seranna'ma - Excuse me<br/>Sathan safal, vira'atisha - Please horse, walk calm<br/>Ma'easha Uralas'falon - You are a Friend of Nature (Plant and Nature magic used by Dalish Keepers)<br/>Ahn - What</p><p>Song is The Longing by Patty Gurdy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Ara'enal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for sticking with me so far guys! I've been enjoying the experience of writing these characters and it makes me giddy to know that people like how they come across! My updates may slow down a bit, as my area has been experiencing a heatwave and my air conditioning is broken. It's not as easy to work when I'm overheated, but it's a fun distraction even if I can only write a paragraph or two every few hours.<br/>I also had several chapters written and edited when I first started posting that I couldn't wait to post them all so now I'm posting as I go with no schedule or chapter buffer. This is hot off the press y'all. Actually it's lukewarm, I finished this at 1 am and I'm making myself wait until I can edit over morning coffee. </p><p>I'll be continuing to place the elvhen translations at the bottom of the chapter, courtesy of Project Elvhen by FenxShiral, I'm sure my grammar is atrocious.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Hinterlands was chaos, pure and unrestrained. The bones of broken carts and ruined buildings were scattered through the hills. No one in their group was a stranger to fighting people, but they weren't looking forward to the uphill battle of restoring peace to the region. Mahra had thought it looked bad from the sky, it was so much worse on the ground.</p><p>Friendly faces greeted them at the camp the Nightingale's scouts had set up. "It's good to see another dwarf in the Inquisition, there's not many of us around," A fair skinned, freckled dwarven woman was telling Cadash, "Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I, well, all of us here, we'll do whatever we can to help." Cadash stumbled over his words a bit, but managed to get the necessary information. Varric snuck in a joke and Lady Pentaghast groaned. Mahra walked into the camp, looking over the map the scouts had prepared.</p><p>There were several noted points of interest that the scouts were going to investigate, but they were currently inaccessible. The Crossroads was the major objective, it was very important. And completely cut off by the mage and templar conflicts. Mahra frowned.</p><p>"What are your thoughts on how we get to the Crossroads?" Lady Pentaghast asked, Mahra looked up to see the Seeker standing next to her over the map, "You must have some idea of how to navigate safely."</p><p>"The road between the camp and the Crossroads is carved through solid rock," Mahra said, tapping the path, "The cliffs are too high for a good ambush point, too difficult to get back down from. It does mean that any fights will be face to face." Lady Pentaghast nodded and Mahra continued, "It might be worth it to get a scout up there, at least until we get into a more open space. An archer to take advantage of any enemies' distraction."</p><p>"Any of the scouts could, I imagine," Lady Pentaghast said, "Or perhaps you could."</p><p>"I could," Mahra shrugged, "But if you want me in the Crossroads with you I'll need another way down. The cliff is too tall and too steep to scale back down there, I'd have to double back around."</p><p>"You could ask me to do it," Scout Harding appeared on Mahra's other side, "I already know the best way up, and I'm pretty handy with a bow. Besides, I grew up in these parts, I know the Hinterlands better than anyone else here." The dwarf's eyes were bright with enthusiasm. Lady Pentaghast nodded at her, and Harding shot her a confident smirk. The dwarf wasn't cocksure, but she was capable and she knew it.</p><p>"Sounds like we have a plan," The Seeker said, pleased, "We'll rest a bit, restock our supplies, then head out." Mahra turned to go unload her gear from the horses only to see the men standing in a group and watching them. "Can we help you?" Lady Pentaghast asked, slightly puzzled.</p><p>"Didn't want to get involved," Varric said with a smile, "You ladies have it handled."</p><p>"It's a very good plan," Cadash added. The Seeker groaned and Mahra rolled her eyes. She looked at the other two women and grinned.</p><p>"Typical." She said. Lady Pentaghast and Scout Harding both snickered while the dwarven men looked affronted. Solas gave a shrug, not objecting to the generalization.</p><p>"We lack your expertise," He said, "I have no doubt that our attempts to contribute would only hamper your efforts. No, I believe that it is better we leave things to the experts."</p><p>"Smart man," Scout Harding spoke up with a nod, voicing Mahra's inner thoughts. Cadash flushed slightly, muttering about silver-tongued elves. Mahra walked away, removing her pack from the gelding's back. She scratched the horse's neck, letting him lean into her hands appreciatively.</p><p>"<em>Ma serannas, mor'ghi</em>," She murmured to the horse. She didn't have much experience with horses, but she could recall something so hazy it felt like trying to remember a dream. The ghost of a distant memory guided her in removing the heavy saddle, rubbing sweat off the beast's back with a rag. It was like she'd always known how.</p><p>"You're a natural, Coral," A voice pulled Mahra from the trance like state she'd gone in to, "You work with horses before?" Varric was unloading the mule he'd ridden.</p><p>"No, I saw someone else do it and I copied them," A half truth, but not a lie.</p><p>"You've learned a lot by watching, it's a valuable talent," Varric observed out loud, "Got any other surprises for us?" Mahra laughed, feeling a bit sneaky.</p><p>"Of course I do, Storyteller," She joked, "But if I tell you, they wouldn't be surprises anymore." Varric shook his head at the young elf.</p><p>"Well as long as you don't kill us, I'll be grateful," He said, "Everyone's got secrets, I get it." A flash, a woman with short fair hair and calculating blue eyes under a brown hood. Mahra blinked and it was gone, "If we're going to be a team, it might be worth telling us something that could get the rest of us in trouble." Varric continued. Mahra swallowed, suddenly feeling a little unwell, but nodded. He had a point.</p><p>"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," She teased, burying the anxiety in humor. Varric laughed, and the conversation turned to other things. Small talk was nice, distracting. These moments of clarity, her previsions, were starting to become full blown visions. It was concerning for a number of reasons.</p><p>Mahra had enough time to sit and write, making notes of the new things she knew. The important things. The woman in her vision. She'd learned to care for horses, but that was as far as it went. Probably. She flipped through the pages, written in the familiar but secret letters only she knew. Cadash had glanced over her shoulder and given her a strange look, but she didn't care much about that. She just wanted to know what changed.</p><p>For her whole life up until Breach, the previsions had come to her as gut feelings, or as gentle tugs and nudges in certain directions. Whispers in her mind, moments of comprehension. Sometimes they were dreams, like she was reliving an experience she'd had before. A word was spoken and she just knew. And now she was having actual visions. It was something about her old soul, who or whatever she'd been before she was Mahra. That person had known, so now she did too.</p><p>"Come <em>da'len</em>, we're almost ready to leave." Mahra snapped her journal shut so fast it clapped, the sound drew most of the camp's attention to her. She blushed uncomfortably.</p><p>"<em>Vin</em>, yes, I'm ready," She said, slightly too loud, stuffing the book into her pack. Her embarrassment was pushed to the side and she made her way to where Lady Pentaghast stood. The woman regarded her with interest.</p><p>"I frequently see you writing in there, in some sort of code," She said, her voice containing a barely concealed edge. The journal was a source of suspicion, Mahra had expected it to be mentioned at some point.</p><p>"It's a diary," Mahra said, "And the code is something I developed as a child to keep my parents from snooping. I still use it out of habit." The Seeker raised a brow.</p><p>"Could it be adapted to the spymaster's purpose?" She asked. Mahra felt a prickle down her spine, but she shrugged.</p><p>"Maybe, I can try and make a cipher for it. But I don't want anyone reading my diary," She said firmly. But then she thought of the important things she'd written down, wondering if her previsions would be useful in the hands of someone with far more resources. "At least, not yet." Her voice was softer, smaller. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the puzzle she carried. Lady Pentaghast looked her over carefully.</p><p>"You plan to tell us what you've written?" She asked, "What have you written?" The Seeker was concerned and curious. Mahra looked down, her own hardened facade wearing on her.</p><p>"Important things," She admitted, "I can barely make sense of it myself, I might need help." They stood in silence for a few moments before it got too uncomfortable for Mahra, "Lady Pentaghast-."</p><p>"Cassandra," She said.</p><p>"<em>Ahn</em>?" Mahra blinked. The Seeker looked at her again.</p><p>"My name," She said, "You don't even call the Herald by his title, so I am surprised you continue to use mine. Cassandra is fine." Mahra smiled.</p><p>"Cassandra," She corrected and tried again, "I joined the Inquisition because I want to make Thedas a better place. If there's any way I can make it easier for Cadash, I will try my damnedest." There was a clearing of a throat. The others had arrived while Mahra was distracted. "Now that I'm done embarrassing myself, shall we?" She gestured at the road.</p><p>Mahra kept back from the templars, sticking to her short bow, not wanting to get in the way of a smite or annulment. She'd never experienced templar mage hunting skills and that was not a record she intended to break. Varric stuck back as well, with Bianca the crossbow by his side. Solas was flinging spells expertly, and Cassandra and Cadash were quite the duo as the front line. As a team, they cut through the rogue mages and templars fighting it out in the middle of the road.</p><p>When the battle petered out, Mahra felt confident enough to approach the corpses of the templars. The mages were fearsome in their own right, but Mahra was a hedge mage and the templars terrified her. She scavenged several of her own arrows, recognizing them by the fletching. She also found a quiver that she used to supplement her own. As they were dead, the bodies no longer needed money so everyone was lifting coin purses. Cadash also set about collecting all of the boots.</p><p>"For the refugees," He said when Varric asked him, and scowled when Varric decided on the nickname 'Boots'. Cassandra looked proud of Cadash's idea and also took the cloaks. They filled their arms with supplies to donate and made way to the Crossroads, keeping an ear out for Scout Harding's warning whistle.</p><p>As they trudged down the cobbled road, Solas glanced at Mahra. "<em>Ahnsul banalasa mala'enansal</em>?" Mahra stopped short, Varric nearly walked into her. She fixed the apostate with a frosty glare.</p><p>"<em>Is'an inana'em, ar'esemsha melahn'lana e'lu</em>." She growled, "You don't get to lecture me on how I choose to fight." Cadash whistled long and low.</p><p>"Hey Chuckles, if you're going to rile Coral up would you mind doing it in a language we know?" Varric suggested, "Not that it isn't hilarious, but inquiring minds need to know."</p><p>"Were you not the one suggesting letting experts work, Solas?" Cassandra added, a slight smirk on her face. Her scar was almost like a dimple on her cheek.</p><p>"I would like one day," Mahra tipped her head back in a melodramatic fashion, "Just one day without one of you being mean to me."</p><p>"You make it too easy on us, Mahra," Cadash said, laughing. Thankfully they moved on to other topics as they walked. Cadash was a bit anxious about meeting Mother Giselle, which made sense considering the dwarf's apparent atheism. Mahra decided she wasn't going to bring up the religion topic, Cassandra was devout and that would be asking for a debate.</p><p>Harding whistled sharply and everyone promptly dropped their cloak wrapped spare boots and leapt into action. Mahra and Varric took up on either side of Solas, Cadash and Cassandra took lead. An arrow hissed through the air, scattering on a barrier. A bolt and arrow were fired simultaneously in the direction the enemy arrow had been shot from. A shriek of pain confirmed a hit from at least one of the rogues. A heavily armored templar with a tower shield struggled to defend against two competent warriors.</p><p>"We're not rogue mages! Surrender at once!" Cassandra's command echoed in the small gorge but the templars didn't stand down. Solas managed to freeze the man solid when his defenses were down, and a swipe from Cadash shattered the iced templar. Two more lightly armored templars fell to Mahra and Varric, Bianca's bolt piercing a breastplate and Mahra's arrow finding the unprotected throat of the other. Another hidden archer fell to one of Scout Harding's arrows.</p><p>They didn't relax for what felt like ages as the excitement of battle ran out of their blood. When nothing else attacked, Cassandra and Cadash wiped their blades clean and everyone put their weapons away. The chatter picked up again where they'd left off, and they went about what would probably become their post-battle routine. Check for anything good and take it. Cassandra tested the heft of the shield-templar's weapon and frowned, putting it back down. It was big for Cadash, but he preferred it to the cheap one he'd been given before they left, so he swapped. Anything unclaimed would likely be scavenged by the scouts after Harding saw them to the Crossroads. Mahra tested the draw of an archer's bow, and compared it to her own. She decided to keep using the one she had. Again, they took the cloaks and boots.</p><p>"Damn," Cadash grunted, wrapping the boots in fabric and hefting them over his shoulder like a sack, "If we run into any more sodding madmen..." The rest of his irritation faded to mumbling.</p><p>"Don't want to carry any more boots, Boots?" Varric asked, shit eating grin plastered across his face.</p><p>"If we have to leave some behind, the scouts will grab it for us," Mahra pointed out, "We don't have to-."</p><p>"I am carrying these fucking boots to the Crossroads," Cadash interrupted loudly, a grim look of determination hardening his features. Mahra pressed her lips together so she didn't laugh. Something about the stocky man with the massive cloth bag on his back made her think of weird red clothing with white fur trim. That was something to write down later. It wasn't important, but it was something from her past.</p><p>Cassandra praised the Maker aloud when they saw carts and people in the distance, people who weren't involved in the mage-templar war. Refugees. They'd made it to the Crossroads at last. People, mostly humans and elves with a few dwarves, stared as the Inquisition group strode into the makeshift town with what looked like large bags of mystery. In the distance, Mahra could make out a Chantry mother in red and white. They reached their first mission.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ara'enal - Journey's Beginning<br/>Ma serannas, mor'ghi - Thank you, big beast<br/>Ahnsul banalasa mala'enansal - Why reject your gift<br/>Is'an inana'em, ar'esemsha melahn'lana e'lu - They watch me, I decide when to give my secret</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Hartha Or'haselan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've hit several milestones! 25k words, 1k views, almost 100 kudos, y'all are great!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The party dropped the boots and cloaks off with a Chantry sister, then split up. Mahra waved at the cliff and saw Harding wave back and vanish. The scouts would likely push forward to secure the Crossroads when she got back. Solas joined in with the healers, Varric and Cassandra were speaking with refugees, and Cadash approached Mother Giselle. Mahra offered to help an overwhelmed sister with distributing the meager supplies.</p><p>When the Inquisition scouts arrived barely an hour later, Mahra was quick to help them get situated. Several humans began to organize the chaos, and make note of necessary items that the refugees need. Cassandra mentioned rumors of the mage and templar strongholds, Varric spoke of a lack of food, and Solas had learned of an ill woman who needed a potion her son knew how to make. Mahra added that the Chantry had noticed a lack of cold weather supplies, and that if they found anything useful to send it along. Despite her personal loathing of the Chantry as a religious organization, not sure where she heard the term, she couldn't deny that they were doing good at the Crossroads.</p><p>"Maker keep you," Someone had said to her while she passed out blankets. To her, an elf.</p><p>"And also you," She'd replied automatically, out of politeness and respect. The words brought an image to mind, two crossed planks of wood, something significant? Regardless, it was the nice thing to say, even if she didn't believe.</p><p>Everyone regrouped, armed with a map and a plan to aid the people. Ambassador Montilyet had told Cadash and Cassandra that the first step to winning over the Chantry, and better, the Templars and Mages would be to help the people of Thedas. It was vital work, but no one wanted to let the refugees of the war to suffer any further. Cadash suggested that they try to keep close to the Crossroads for the rest of the day, they could set out in the morning to hit more areas before dark. It was late enough that they wouldn't be able to do much that day.</p><p>"Coral and I could probably snag a few rams, Seeker, Boots, you think you can help us with the heavy lifting afterwards? No offense Chuckles," Varric was enjoying having everyone nicknamed.</p><p>"None taken," Solas said, clasping his hands behind his back.</p><p>"Perhaps you could keep an eye out for any surprises," Mahra grinned, "Wouldn't want anyone to think you were slacking off, eh <em>hahren</em>?" She was teasing of course, but she also wanted to get her comeuppance for his work in getting her that ridiculous nickname. Solas gave her a flat look, but she wasn't sure if it was because she'd hinted that he might have been slacking or if it was because she'd called him old. Either option was satisfying on a petty level. Was this having friends? Mahra loved it. She hadn't realized how much fun it was to be petty.</p><p>Rams were plentiful, so long as one kept off the roads and away from the clearings where skirmishes seemed to always happen. Varric was a personable guy in civilized places, his favorite kind of places, but he was stealthier than he let others believe. He could easily maneuver himself to get a clean shot on his targets, which made for quick and efficient kills. Mahra watched him move, how he carried himself and how he stepped in near silence. It was a rogue technique that he used, and it was fascinating to watch. Her own methods were rooted in shape shifting magic, the primal instincts of stalk and kill predators adapted to an elven body. Shape shifters took on traits from their bestial forms, and she used hers to pretend she wasn't a mage. Mahra pretended she couldn't see Solas's disapproving stare as she slunk into the underbrush.</p><p>The scent of blood and fire and magic was faint on the breeze, the battles too far to bother the rams who were practically nose blind to any predator that wasn't wolves, bears, or mountain cats. Mahra didn't trust the stink of the <em>shemlen</em> town that clung to her clothing to not spook the animal, so she kept downwind. One arrow later, the ram was dead. They'd killed four rams by the time the sun rode low in the sky, voting to drag them back to the Crossroads rather than start the butchering process in the woods. The hunter Varric had spoken to prior was thrilled to have so much fresh meat. Mahra stepped up to help process the rams, for which the human was thankful as well.</p><p>Meat was divvied up, hides given to a tanner, and organs dumped into a big stew pot with various contributions from other refugees. Mahra had gone to the well and drawn water to clean her hands with. Cadash caught up to her as she scrubbed a small bar of soap between her palms.</p><p>"Why do you do that?" He asked, "I've seen noble wealthy types rinse their hands frequently but they're never that... Thorough, 'bout it?" The hand washing was something Mahra had always done, according to her parents. After the old soul revelation they guessed it was a holdover from her past life. Thankfully, she also remembered why she'd done it before.</p><p>"Old blood breeds disease," She told him frankly, "And it feels disgusting." Cadash nodded slowly, a skeptical expression stuck fast to his face. "My family and I wash frequently, with soap," Mahra continued, "We got sick less than the other families no matter where we lived." That caught the dwarf's attention.</p><p>"Soap can do that?" He asked, doubtful, "Really?"</p><p>"I met a lot of sailors from the north when I was a child," Mahra smiled, pleased at the potential convert for showing interest, "Many of them think us southerners are dirty people. Dirty people means more illness. It's common knowledge there." Cadash looked to be pondering her explanation. Then he tugged up the sleeves on his gambeson and asked politely for the soap.</p><p>The green mark on Cadash's palm had stopped spreading, but it still glowed menacingly, the same sickly green of the Breach. At this distance, without the leather gloves he usually wore to hide it, Mahra could feel the prickle of the magic on her skin. She pretended not to notice it personally. Dwarves usually were not very sensitive to magic while elves were often oversensitive. Cadash had insisted that it stopped hurting and didn't bother him none, but that much raw fade magic was starting to make Mahra feel a bit buzzed.</p><p>She stood back a bit to let him finish washing up, wrapping her soap back up and stashing it in her pack. Inwardly, she wondered how many people would start washing more frequently if it was known that the Herald of Andraste did too. Soap would get more expensive if that happened though, but she didn't know enough about how finance worked to guess how expensive it could get. Finances, another subject that she didn't bring over to this lifetime.</p><p>With the Inquisition presence in the Crossroads, there was no need for them to take watches through the night. Mahra made more notes about the importance of the Crossroads, and the Revered Mother Cadash had come to speak with, Giselle. The Orlesian woman was more important than the others thought she would be, or will be, but she couldn't explain why.</p><p>That night, Mahra took control of her dreams. The last week almost week and a half had been overwhelming. She'd found herself tangled in the threads of fate, if one believed in such a thing. And so, she wanted to understand why. Why were these people, these items, these events, why were any of them so important? Where did her old knowledge come from? Who had she been? The fade reflected her confusion, placing her in the center of knotted lines and braided cords. And in the distance, there was a mirror.</p><p>Mahra plucked the string in front of her, and it hummed a low note that reverberated in her chest. It was the connection, the master thread for lack of a better term. Cadash, the thread all other threads connected to. It was knotted and twisted, pulled in different directions at intervals as far as the eye could see. His thread was joined to another, a thicker cable that wrapped around it and carried on into the distance. The Inquisition? Mahra strummed the rope that formed, and the vibration it made shook her to her core. It was powerful, immeasurably.</p><p>Spirits and demons were attracted to the sound, drifting curiously through the web. They didn't touch anything, so Mahra didn't bother shooing them away. The fade reflected only the things she wanted them to know, so they didn't understand what they were looking at. Another presence lurked at the edges of her dream, smaller than it ought to be. She didn't know why she knew that. It didn't enter, but it was known to her all the same. It had a string too.</p><p>She found her own thread in the tangle of the Inquisition, and passed through the weave as she followed it to the mirror. A word formed in her mind as she brushed the intricate molding on the frame. <em>Eluvian</em>. The string ended in the center of the mirror, or rather it extended through the glass and beyond. That is where she came from. <em>Eluvian</em>, secret mirror, seeing glass. A window or a doorway? Spirits of Curiosity and Desire drew closer, drawn in by her palpable desperation for understanding.</p><p>"<em>Ar ela'drua ma'eolas</em>," Desire drifted closer, draping themself against the mirror's frame. They slipped into another form, an elven body. No, they were taller, sharper features and smaller eyes and ears, <em>elvhen</em>. An ancient elf. Androgynous and beautiful with piercing eyes. They looked worldly, but predatory.</p><p>"<em>Tel'nuven, mala'enansalem geronash</em>." Mahra kept her tone even, turning away from the demon. It was trying to tempt her, likely with knowledge that it didn't have. A pride demon came to mind, offering to repair what was broken. It had ended poorly, not for her, but for someone else.</p><p>"<em>Dirth'ala? Eolaselan'mah, ar lasa ma'asahngar! Ar'drua halani, ar'an halani'galin</em>-," The demon tried again, but Mahra interrupted.</p><p>"<em>Din</em>." Desire scowled, the twisted expression still looked beautiful on their angular face. They left, their displeasure radiating through the fade. Mahra breathed a sigh of relief. While the denizens of the fade usually kept their distance, they were always lured by her attempts to puzzle out her past. She wanted too strongly, but not strongly enough to make a deal.</p><p>Light was starting to filter through the oiled canvas of the tent Mahra shared with Cassandra, making her squint as she stirred. Humans were less sensitive to light, so she was still sleeping. Mahra took advantage of the calm to write about her dream. Her own fate was thickly entwined into the Inquisition's. As for what that fate was, she would need to investigate.</p><p>She sat up and began to ready herself for the day, brushing her thigh length mousey brown hair and braiding it with her signature spiked strap. She coiled it at the base of her skull, pinning it carefully to keep it out of the way. Mahra adored having long hair, but it wasn't practical. At least she had methods to keep foes from using her hair against her. Anyone who grabbed her by the hair would regret it.</p><p>Cassandra stirred as Mahra put her armor on, either the sun was getting bright enough to wake a human or the movement wasn't quiet enough to sleep through, and set to work getting herself dressed and presentable. The Inquisition needed to make a good impression, and then they needed to be able to uphold that image. The men were also starting to come out of their tent, dressed and working on breakfast. Varric was taking longer than Solas or Cadash, but he took more pride in his appearance than anyone Mahra knew personally.</p><p>Breakfast was porridge, an easy food to make. And delicious if you added honey and/or fruit. Mahra tried never to go anywhere without some kind of berries, which she loved to collect and dry near the fire during her ventures. Today, they would begin to bring peace to the Hinterlands, so she offered the fruit to the rest of the group. It was an extra morale boost, so worth sharing. Salmon berries were plentiful in these parts, she could easily restock regardless.</p><p>The road to Redcliffe Farm was a battlefield, and the templar encampment wouldn't be far off course. They encountered a few rifts, and fighting the demons was miserable. It was a nasty fight, but Adan's potions were helpful when it came to getting patched up. Getting to the bridge was difficult, discovering that the bridge was not only ruined, but also being held by said templar encampment was even more frustrating. Clearing out the puppeteers would destabilize the rogue templars, and make it easier for the Inquisition to either recruit or eliminate the threats. It also took several hours. Everyone was tired and hurting by the time they found a decent campsite by the farm. One of the Nightingale's people came by not long after that, there would be a group coming by in an hour or so to set up an encampment of their own at that site. There wasn't much light left in the day, but they could at least talk to Dennet before it got too late.</p><p>The Horsemaster was steadfast and more stubborn than a mule. He introduced Cadash to his wife and and the head farmhand, assuring them that once the immediate threats to his farm were dealt with, he'd send his horses to Haven. They spoke to Elaina and Bron, making notes on what would need to be handled, and returned to the latest Inquisition camp. They ate a quick meal and collapsed into their bedrolls, hoping that the next day would be slightly easier.</p><p>Demon controlled wolves. Because it couldn't be easy. They'd been hiking all over the Hinterlands for days at that point. Varric was very quickly over all this "nature" stuff and was looking forward to going back to an actual town. The fingers on Cadash's left hand were getting pins and needles from closing too many rifts too quickly, and Solas's magic wasn't helping with it that much. Cassandra had emphasized a priority on the more major problems they were coming across, but when they encountered a friendly druffalo in the woods, Mahra pointed out that they should probably bring it back to Redcliffe Farm. It was liable to follow them all over the Hinterlands otherwise. No one wanted to risk letting it. Back at the camp, Cadash sent a missive by raven in regards to the scouted watchtower locations.</p><p>Time both dragged and flew for several weeks. Requisitions were completed, agents recruited, citizens aided, and even Horsemaster Dennet himself agreed to stay on with the Inquisition and take the horses to Haven himself. Solas was fairly amused when they encountered a Breach worshiping cult, but Cadash quickly won them over. Mahra found the young man with the sick mother in the Crossroads and talked him into going back to his family. Cadash had requested that the cult spread out across Thedas to help the people caught in the wars, and the boy Hyndel was easily convinced that he could start with the people at the Crossroads. They discovered the rogue mages' stronghold in the Witchwood, and from there were barred entry to Redcliffe proper. Everyone was a bit frustrated at that point, but they'd done what they could in the Hinterlands and were ready to go home.</p><p>Back at the Crossroads, Mahra was able to dream properly for the first time in what felt like forever. Again, she inspected the web. She had found herself in a different area now, still following Cadash's thread. She found where the other core members of the Inquisition joined with the strengthening rope, and saw that others would join too. They each had their own connections, ones that made them weaker or stronger. She plucked one, and felt a fierce loyalty and passion. To whom and what, Mahra wasn't sure. Not yet. The spirits drifted as they liked, and Desire glowered at her from a distance but didn't try again. The lurker on the edge of her dream was a constant presence.</p><p>She ignored them, and touched Varric's thread. She thought back to their conversation, the secrets. She recalled the face she had seen. The woman was tightly wound with Varric's past, and she would be important. Her thread was distant, but it would find the Inquisition one day. The <em>Eluvian</em> was looming, calling to her, but Mahra ignored that too. She'd learn more before she approached it again, but she would need to find someone to ask. Solas? Mahra touched Solas's thread. It was thin, recently weakened but growing stronger. He'd been through much to have diminished him like that.</p><p>They woke in the morning and began the trek back to Haven, Mahra on the mule Cadash had ridden down and Cadash on the new pony Dennet had given him. A handsome chestnut steed. They made quick time on the return journey despite their weariness. Haven was waiting for them. Could it be considered home yet? Mahra felt a hope that she could. They were going home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hartha Or'haselan - Understanding the Thread<br/>Hahren - Elder (old man in this case)<br/>Ar ela'drua ma'eolas - I can offer you knowledge<br/>Tel'nuven, mala'enansalem geronash - I don't want it, your gifts are expensive<br/>Dirth'ala? Eolaselan'mah, ar lasa ma'asahngar! Ar'drua halani, ar'an halani'galin - Lessons? Oracle, I grant you destiny. I offer help, we help each other<br/>Din - No</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Tual'eth'anor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing Mahra noticed as they rode up was how many people were in Haven. There were twice the number of tents outside of the cobbled stone walls, and it looked like a true village now. A few merchants were hawking wares to refugees who'd come to support the young Inquisition. Edric's efforts in the Hinterlands were making a good impression. So much had already improved, and it had barely been a month since the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been destroyed. Cassandra was visibly pleased, and Cadash looked nervous as people recognized him as the Herald of Andraste.</p><p>"Drink it in, Boots," Varric was in Cadash's ear, "You've got fans!" Edric put on a smile, but it was forced. The man was incredibly uncomfortable. Mahra was pretty sure that it had everything to do with his past in the Carta. She hadn't spoken about it with him, but all the pieces added up. His anxiety about attention, the way he spoke about his former boss, the flashes of lyrium in his past. Those threads looped back around, Mahra knew it would come back to haunt him.</p><p>There was a commotion outside of the Chantry as they walked up. Solas and Varric had split off as they walked through town, but Mahra wanted to see if the Valo-Kas were still in town. It was a shame that they weren't, as the watchful eyes of a qunari might make the former templars and circle mages less openly antagonistic towards each other. Commander Cullen shoved between the two gathered groups, scolding them loudly. The man had a powerful presence that couldn't be ignored, his voice making everyone nearby stop and listen. And listen they did.</p><p>Cadash groaned as a toad-faced human man in Chantry colors sidled up to the Commander, whose expression began to resemble Cassandra's when Varric brought up the book stabbing. Cadash stomped up to the other men, passive aggressively ignoring the High Chancellor, and speaking only to the Commander instead. Mahra glanced at Cassandra, who was fighting a smirk at the Chantry official's obvious displeasure.</p><p>"High Chancellor Roderick has always been a pompous, smug man," She said to Mahra as an aside, "It is satisfying to see him being treated as unimportant." If only, he was important. Not yet, but he would be. But it was certainly fun to see the man turning red in frustration.</p><p>"I don't understand why he's pushing so hard for a trial when there's no Grand Clerics around to impress," Mahra replied in her best attempt at a stage whisper. Several faces turned to give her a curious look, so she continued, "He's not eligible to get elected as Divine, we're not in Tevinter." Someone nearby guffawed. Roderick didn't say anything, but he immediately turned scarlet, fixed Mahra with a murderous glare, and stormed off.</p><p>"As funny as that was," Cassandra said, trying to sound stern through her snickering, "We do not need to draw more ire from the Chantry." Mahra grinned as innocently as she could, though she still bared far too many teeth.</p><p>"I was curious," She said innocently, "I was hoping someone could explain it to me." Cadash burst out laughing, slapping his knee as he doubled over. Commander Cullen raised an eyebrow in her direction. The man looked weary, but his scar made the bemused quirk of his lips more obvious than he meant to let on.</p><p>"I- I can't wait to-to tell V-v-v-varric!" Cadash stuttered through his words as he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes, "Never change lass, please!" His laughter was infectious, and soon most people in the vicinity were giggling at minimum. Mahra couldn't resist a bow, the kind she'd seen traveling performers do at the end of their performances. The gesture felt natural, and made her giddy with delight.</p><p>Mahra saluted in Commander Cullen's and Cadash's direction and took her leave. She wouldn't be needed in the war room, and she had been submitting reports through raven when she'd the time. Her most pressing concern was where she was going to sleep. Without the Valo-Kas, she didn't have a tent anymore. She approached the quartermaster, a human woman by the name of Threnn.</p><p>Threnn was one of the people who'd caught her eye as a child in Gwaren. She had been important, only a little, but necessary. Mahra had previously thought it was because of something that happened during the blight. Now she knew the real reason, Threnn was with the Inquisition. In a valuable role nonetheless.</p><p>"It's been a while ma'am," Mahra said with a smile, "I can't believe I didn't recognize you sooner," Threnn eyed her suspiciously. The woman had never been very fond of elves, but she'd never been abusive either. At least not in public that Mahra was aware of. "Mahra Parel, my mother Diren and I sold meat and furs in the market in Gwaren." Threnn's eyes widened with remembrance.</p><p>"You? I can't believe it," The woman scoffed but her smile was friendly, "You're too energetic, you talk too much!" Mahra laughed while Threnn shook her head. Several people stared as they walked by, but didn't comment on how the usually stern and irritated woman had lightened up.</p><p>"You can blame the Herald," Mahra said, feigning a lack of familiarity. Threnn tilted her head almost instinctively.</p><p>"You're one of the people he took to the Hinterlands?" The woman asked in disbelief.</p><p>"I know, right?" She said cheekily, "I was recommended it seems. I'm glad you made it through the Blight, what brought you to the Inquisition?" Threnn's friendly expression turned foul.</p><p>"His Majesty was looking to get rid of me," She huffed, "Doesn't like that I followed Teyrn Loghain to the end. The Queen was glad to have me around, but the King loathed me." Mahra's brows turned up and she smiled sadly. She gave the woman's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.</p><p>"You'll do good here," She told Threnn, "I just know it. Call it a feeling." Threnn shrugged gently, but her overall mood had improved noticably. It helped that Mahra hadn't said anything bad about Loghain's misdeeds. She guided the conversation into a more professional talk, inquiring about lodgings. She made sure to mention the small, slightly broken house in the woods to the north, formerly occupied by the deceased alchemist Taigen. Especially that it would be very good servants' quarters. Threnn promised to look into it, but implied that it wouldn't hurt to squat there in the meantime.</p><p>Mahra grinned, bidding the woman a farewell and hiked to the cabin. It would need to be patched up, scrubbed thoroughly, a fixer-upper? The word came to mind, but it wasn't a term she could recall hearing before. She huffed, but dropped her pack and began to clean. It wasn't a very thorough job, but it still took several hours. Mahra was exhausted by the time she called it quits and the house grime combined with the road grime to make her feel filthy.</p><p>She started a fire in the hearth, then collected snow in a pot and began to heat and melt the snow into hot water to fill the tub she'd found. It took several pots to fill the tub, but the moment it was full she'd stripped completely and climbed in. Weeks of dirt and sweat were lifted by the soapy water, and she combed tangles and twigs from her hair. The warm water and the feeling of being clean were so soothing, that she hadn't realized she falling asleep until a loud knock at the door jolted her awake again.</p><p>"<em>Pala</em>-!" Mahra yelped, cut off when she slipped clamoring out of the bath. She hit the wooden floor with heavy thump, cussing loudly as she scrambled back to her feet and wrapped herself in a blanket. She threw the door open, ignoring the cold wind and snarled, "<em>Ahn ma'nuven</em>!?"</p><p>"Uh," Edric Cadash stood in the doorway looking fairly aghast, "Is this a bad time?" The dwarf was turning pink, Mahra awkwardly hugged the blanket tighter.</p><p>"<em>Din, ir abelas</em>. Sorry about that," She blushed, looking down, "I fell asleep in the tub..." They stood there in silence for what felt like far too long. "What can I do for you?"</p><p>"I was going to ask if you wanted to join me and the guys for dinner in the Singing Maiden," Cadash was avoiding her eyes. Mahra nodded.</p><p>"<em>Vin</em>, let me get dressed and I'll meet you there." She said quickly. He nodded in return and shuffled off. Mahra closed the door and covered her face in her hands. Cadash was basically her boss and she yelled at him. While dripping wet and wearing only a blanket. If he told Varric, she was going to never be allowed to forget it. He would definitely put this in his book. Mahra shrugged off the embarrassment and threw on some simple clothing, tunic, leggings, foot wraps, hair was combed and left loose. Hidden weapons in place, she was out the door and on her way to meet the others at the tavern.</p><p>The guys, as Cadash had called them, were composed of himself, Varric, and Solas. Cassandra had passed on joining them for a group meal, though no one had mentioned why. It wasn't like she needed a reason to skip, but Mahra would have enjoyed her company. To his credit, it seemed like Cadash hadn't mentioned the awkwardness of the invitation. It definitely saved her from probably a lifetime of teasing.</p><p>Flissa, the human woman who ran the tavern, brought them all food and drinks. Solas had passed on the ale, having water instead. They ate and chattered, talking about anything and everything as the moons climbed in the sky. Varric's mug was barely going down, Mahra had noticed as he ordered more drinks for herself and Cadash. Hoping to loosen their lips? She didn't mind that much, she wasn't the one paying. She also had been snacking on a fairly large hunk of buttered bread, and it was keeping her from getting past the buzz.</p><p>"C'mon Chuckles," Varric was saying, "Why do you like to tease her so much?" Mahra leaned forward, taking a personal interest into where the conversation was going.</p><p>"Because she is easy to tease," Solas said, taking a sip of water. Mahra's big silver eyes glittered with mischief.</p><p>"<em>Ahnsul ma'sila ar'palasha</em>." She said, as casually as though she'd said the sky is blue and rifts are green. Solas choked on his water, turning scarlet up to the tips of his ears. "It goes both ways, doesn't it <em>ha'ishan</em>?" Her grin was wide, baring too sharp teeth. Varric clapped Solas on the back.</p><p>"I suppose I deserved that," He admitted, after clearing his throat. Mahra quirked an eyebrow, but took a sip of ale as the man caught his breath.</p><p>"What did you say to him?" Cadash asked, breathing heavily from his own laughing.</p><p>"That is a secret," Mahra winked, "But I will tell you how to cuss in elven if you want." Both dwarves had an interest, so she taught them <em>fenedhis lasa</em> and <em>pala</em>. Solas leaned back in his chair and let her talk. While sod was a popular dwarven swear, there weren't really any cuss words that top-siders could learn. Guess the old dwarves didn't record much foul language. Mahra took a long drink from her third cup of ale, or possibly fourth. She wasn't trashed, but she was still half in the bag.</p><p>"Slow down, woman," Cadash told her, taking away the ale and giving her water, "You're going to have a nasty hangover in the morning." She was tempted to object, but decided against it. He was right, she pouted but relented. Varric laughed as she slurped.</p><p>"Oh Coral," Varric grinned from behind a notebook. Mahra wondered when he'd gotten it out, "You are too cute for your own good." Mahra flushed darker than the drink had made her.</p><p>"No you," She growled, muffled by her cup. The old phrases buried in her mind came forth more easily when she was drunk. Varric laughed again.</p><p>"You say the best things," He added. Mahra couldn't argue with that, but she squinted at him from across the table. "But the hour is late and you should go to bed." She pondered it for a minute, mind almost swimming through the thought process."</p><p>"I should go to bed," She agreed firmly. Mahra swayed on her feet a little, but her balance wasn't gone. She considered her situation, then announced to the table that she might need an escort for safety purposes. Solas volunteered, having consumed no alcohol that night.</p><p>"<em>Felasilor dun'himelan</em>," Solas sighed, offering her his arm to hold for support. Mahra took it with a pout.</p><p>"Am not," She muttered as they stepped out into the chill of the evening. The slush was freezing into ice, and crunched underfoot as she walked by his side. "And stop calling me things like that where people can hear you." Solas's brow raised, but she ignored the look.</p><p>"Do you worry someone will overhear, <em>da'mi</em>?" He asked, as they passed a small group of soldiers on patrol.</p><p>"<em>Vin, ea'leal</em>," Mahra huffed at him, "You're the only one who figured it out, I don't want anyone to know." Solas shrugged gently, barely moving his shoulders. They stepped out of Haven's gates, and started down the path to the cabin. "How did you know?"</p><p>"The shapes you take become a part of you," Solas pointed out, "You have sharp senses, and sharper teeth." Mahra stopped walking, and Solas stopped when her grip on his arm held him back.</p><p>"Oh," She said softly, feeling foolish. "It's that obvious? I guess I am <em>felasilor dun'himelan</em>." They started walking again in silence. She opened the door and looked at Solas bashfully.</p><p>"<em>Ma serannas</em>, Solas," She said, he dipped his head politely.</p><p>"<em>Sathem'ma</em>," Solas said, clasping his fingers behind his back as he liked to do. He departed, turning to make the walk back to Haven. Mahra closed the door and stoked the coals in the hearth. She was thankfully sober enough to make sure that she wouldn't have to start another fire in the morning. Then she burrowed into the blankets on the bed and let herself drift to a dreamless sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tual'eth'anor - To Make a Home (Literally 'To Make a Safe Place)<br/>Pala - Fuck<br/>Ahn ma'nuven - What do you want<br/>Ahnsul ma'sila ar'palasha - Because you think I'm sexy<br/>Ha'ishan - Old man (More disrespectful than haren)<br/>Felasilor dun'himelan - Foolish shape-shifter<br/>Da'mi - Little knife<br/>Vin, ea'leal - Yes, obviously (Ea'leal means 'to be clear')<br/>Sathem'ma - You're welcome</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Panathe'sha</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no hangover that morning, blissfully. Mahra was far enough away from Haven that she doubted any templars would detect a small healing spell but she didn't want to tempt fate. Looking for trouble usually meant finding it, one way or another. She had no intention of drawing the ire of whatever usually punished hubris. Her rumpled clothing was the same outfit she'd worn out to eat, but a cursory sniff check assured her that she hadn't spilled anything on it. Regardless, she still stunk of ale. She cleaned her teeth with a rough cloth, using a paste made from charcoal, and bone toothpick, and rinsed with a clove based mouthwash that she'd purchased from Seggrit. A damp cloth was sufficient to freshen up everything else, and she braided her hair with her favorite spiked leather strap. The whole process took long enough that she could contemplate the events of the evening and what the future might hold.</p><p>Solas liked to tease her, she liked to tease him. That's what friends do, she thought, they tease each other. Everyone was doing that. Then he'd also called her <em>da'mi</em>, he thought she was stubborn. Her own parents had called her that before, it didn't mean anything in her mind. What really had her frustrated was how he'd reacted to her calling herself "sexy". He hadn't denied it, he hadn't confirmed what she'd said but he also never implied otherwise. A small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that you can find someone attractive and not be attracted to them. Mahra agreed with the sentiment, she thought a lot of people were very pleasing to look at, but hadn't felt any interest in more. It was like appreciating a painting. Besides, she had absolutely no interest in Solas.</p><p>Mahra had come to consider him a friend, she trusted him to watch her back in a fight. What she didn't trust was his motivations. Her intuitions were never wrong, her mind might fill in details wrong or make assumptions but her gut instincts had yet to mislead her. Perhaps he was like her, in a way. Wanting to be involved to ensure that the Inquisition succeeds in their goal. But the feeling Solas gave her made her doubt that theory. He was important, very important, but still an unknown factor. He had admitted to her that he could walk through dreams, a rare skill, and she wondered if it had been him who stalked the dark corners of her web at night or something far more terrifying. She huffed, tying off the braid with a small ribbon. There was much to consider and little information to utilize.</p><p>Now looking significantly more put together, and carrying four knives hidden and visible, and her short-sword, she decided to go grab some kind of breakfast inside Haven's walls. The tavern was nice, but she didn't want to spend her coin when the Inquisition's own mess tent wouldn't cost her a single copper. She was going to send a portion of her income back to her family in<em> Banal'ras Banalhan</em>. Mahra wasn't sure how many young elves would decide to join the Inquisition, but she hoped that no one she knew personally would show up. By that point, they'd likely have discovered that she was a mage and that would be awkward for her parents when everyone back home came knocking about the news.</p><p>Speaking of awkward, she had to tell Cadash about her abilities soon. She'd come to consider him a good friend and the longer she kept her magic a secret the more it would hurt everyone when she was outed. The question was how. Solas had been so painfully blunt when he told her, but that was because they're both apostates. At least, she assumed that was the reason. Mahra knew she was terrified of telling her friends, afraid of being rejected. The anxiety was new for her, a necessary emotion in beasts and people. Fear and nervousness kept you alive, safe. This wasn't a problem that she could solve through avoidance, though. She could get away if she needed to, shape-shift into a beast and flee should her friends turn on her.</p><p>Mahra was yanked from her thoughts when her foot caught a loose stone on the steps towards the mess tent. She stumbled, but kept her balance. Shrugging off the fog of her small emotional episode, she walked to the queue. A few soldiers made a comment about her eating with the humans or something along those lines, but she didn't care enough to listen. She'd made up her mind, she'd tell Cadash when she they were on the road next, at least the next time she was invited along. They'd bonded a bit during their mad scampering around the Hinterlands. She was good at what she did, but she wasn't sure if the Inquisition would want someone like her going to try and win over the Chantry. Just the thought of the organization made her nose wrinkle. But they had their place, as most things did.</p><p>Looking up, Mahra spied Cadash walking with Cassandra towards the Chantry. The event signaled to her as important, so she didn't call out for them, but the sight of her friends cheered her up immensely. The line for breakfast moved quickly, and she sat off to the side with her bowl of overcooked porridge. It was bland and the texture was physically illogical, but that was what free would buy. She shoveled the rest of the sludge down her throat, gulping water to make sure it actually went down. It settled quickly, like a weight sticking to her ribs. Mahra laughed internally, it might stay with her until dinner.</p><p>Her next stop for the day was the woods to gather more herbs for Adan. Granted some of the refugees that had arrived might be assisting the alchemist, it was nice to get away from the stench of civilization for a while. She hummed a tune as she worked, carefully cutting elfroot stems just above a set of leaf buds so that the plant could grow back without much difficulty. In her mind, an older woman's voice had once scolded her for cutting wrong. She'd muttered an apology to her <em>morlanalin</em> before recalling, with a start, that she'd never met her grandparents. They'd died in the Denerim Alienage during the fifth Blight. Another memory of her old life, she'd learned how to garden from her grandmother. Mahra couldn't help but smile as she closed her eyes and thanked her old <em>Mamala</em> for lessons that spanned lifetimes.</p><p>Adan was curt as usual, with not so much as a 'thank you' when Mahra delivered the armful of elfroot to his door. He must have been in a good mood, he didn't speak to anyone at all when he was cross. Mahra caught a glimpse of activity in Solas's Inquisition-provided hovel. She decided against interrupting him, instead trudging down the muddy path past the Singing Maiden tavern. She glanced in the door as a servant swept out with a covered tray, but didn't see anyone she knew so she kept walking. The porridge was no longer a heavy lump in her gut, so she decided to head to the training field. Varric waved as she passed his tent, he was doing some writing so the exchange of pleasantries was short.</p><p>The training fields was a flurry of activity, blunt training swords clashing against each other, armor, and shields. Mahra could hear the Commander, Cullen Rutherford, shouting tips and correcting forms as he strode through the recruits. The presence of any templars made her anxious, but she would be fine if she didn't use any kind of magic. She approached a rack of blunted weapons and picked up a short sword and a parrying dagger. The weight and balance felt like her own set, and would be good practice. She gave the sword a test flourish in her right hand, then swung at the dummy. The hit was solid, connecting with what would have been an elbow on an actual opponent. She went through her drills, focusing more on the basic movements.</p><p>Unlike most rogues, who preferred duel wielding daggers and knives, Mahra loved the weight and reach of the short sword. It gave her more flexibility in her techniques. The parrying dagger in her left hand was faster and deadlier than a shield, at a loss of defense, and not as commonly used in Ferelden. Antivans and Orlesians were more likely to use parrying daggers, she'd learned from sailors and travelers in Gwaren and Markham. It was a higher risk, but higher reward style. She stopped to catch her breath, realizing that a few of the soldiers had taken breaks just to see what the small elf was doing.</p><p>"Interesting technique," A sun-browned human woman commented, "Feel up to a spar?" Mahra grinned, careful about her teeth, and nodded. The other Inquisition soldiers scurried back several steps to give the women space enough for a good fight. The human took up a longer sword than Mahra used, and a large shield. She stood a good ten paces away and smiled, "Name's Lysette."</p><p>"Mahra," Mahra replied, "Nice to meet you, Lysette." Then she darted forward. Lysette lifted her shield, ready to deflect a blow. Mahra feinted, catching the edge of the shield with the cross-guard of her dagger, sweeping low with her sword. Lysette jumped back, avoiding the attack, then swung overhand with the long-sword. Mahra carried the momentum of the sweep into a roll, springing out with a jab. Lysette spun and shoved her back with her shield, pushing Mahra back several paces. They regarded each other carefully, shifting their stances and making observations. Several soldiers whooped and cheered for their friend, but neither women paid them any mind. This was a good fight.</p><p>Lysette moved first, flourishing her long-sword before feinting to the left. Mahra saw Lysette's feet shuffle ever so slightly, deflecting the sword with her dagger and thrusting straight forward. She'd anticipated the woman's shield coming up to deflect the stab and picked up her foot to kick hard. Lysette staggered, having missed the tells in Mahra's posture. She recovered quickly enough to parry a quick succession of swipes from sword and dagger before returning with her own heavier blows. They were pretty evenly matched, for all Mahra had favored archery and magic. That was the purpose of this practice session after all.</p><p>"You look like you want to dance," Lysette taunted with a grin, "I thought we were sparring." Several soldiers laughed, one shouted something about Mahra stepping up to the challenge.<br/>"You think this is dancing?" Mahra jeered in turn, in the spirit of the battle, "I can show you dancing." She flourished her sword and sped up her steps. Her sword batted Lysette's strike away and she twirled around to the warrior's unguarded side. Lysette had to step away to avoid the dagger but Mahra followed. She glided as though she was in a waltz, too close for the long-sword to parry properly and too close for the shield to gain momentum for a bash. Mahra wove herself around Lysette, her shorter weapon choices making the warrior's movements more frantic in her attempts to block and dodge. Then Lysette slipped on the snow, falling backwards in a clatter of armor. The tip of Mahra's short-sword was at her throat.</p><p>The women panted, staring at each other for several heartbeats before Lysette raised her hands in a yield. The crowd they'd attracted burst into wild cheering and shouting. Mahra dropped her weapons and held her hand out, hauling Lysette back to her feet. They clapped each other on the shoulders, smiling wide and faces flush with exertion.</p><p>"Good fight," Mahra panted, as the woman pulled her in for a gentle headbutt, a show of camaraderie.</p><p>"I think you'd've had me there even if I didn't fall," Lysette laughed, still catching her breath. She wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow, "I shouldn't have said anything about dancing." Mahra shook her head.</p><p>"No, you shouldn't have." She agreed, "But I'll be sure to remember it in the future. It'll come in handy for sure." They were still chatting about ways to improve on their own styles when Commander Rutherford came to break up the crowd.</p><p>"Rest is over," He called, "Back to work!" He spotted the women putting away their practice weapons and made his way over. "I saw that fight of yours," He said, "Good work Recruit." They saluted him. "You, rogue, a moment." Lysette walked off leaving a suddenly anxious Mahra alone with the Commander.</p><p>"Yes Commander?" She asked, standing at attention. He was well known as a templar, former templar he'd always insist, but he still had a powerful distrust of magic and mages.</p><p>"At ease," He said, and she relaxed her shoulders just enough to be visible, "You're one of the Herald's companions?" Mahra nodded stiffly, "Walk with me." It wasn't an invitation or a question, it felt like an order. She laced her fingers behind her back like Solas tended to do and followed just behind the Commander.</p><p>"What can I do for you, Commander?" She asked, willing the nervousness out of her voice. The man towered over her, his armor and fur mantle made his presence alone feel intimidating.</p><p>"It appears to me that our Herald is beginning to form an inner circle within the Inquisition," He said, pausing to correct a recruit on her stance, "...Like that." Then he kept moving, "What do you think of him?" He asked.</p><p>"He's..." Mahra trailed off, taking a moment to consider Cadash, "I consider him a friend. He is clever, and loyal. He wants to help, but he doesn't like calling attention to himself." The Commander listened quietly, nodding a few times as she spoke. A subtle gesture to let her know he was paying attention. "He hates being called Herald." The man laughed at that.</p><p>"Well regardless of his stance on the title, that will stay. Thedas needs hope, and a Herald of Andraste will give them that." He said.</p><p>"It will also paint a target on his back," Mahra added, beginning to forget her fear of templars. Her mind twinged with a soft prevision, "He wasn't always the Herald, the ghosts of the past will come for him." The Commander paused, turning to look down at her. The anxiety surged back.</p><p>"You seem very sure about that," He said carefully. Mahra swallowed the lump forming in her throat and nodded, "Your instincts are good, like Lady Cassandra said. We've received word from one of the Herald's old contacts, these ghosts that you mentioned are being handled." Mahra released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and sighed in relief. "You care for him?"</p><p>"Yes, I believe in what the Inquisition is doing, and I believe in Cadash." The Commander nodded at her declaration. He turned, and Mahra followed his gaze to Cassandra Pentaghast. The woman strode over, not in a rush but not dallying.</p><p>"Commander," She nodded to him, then looked at Mahra, "I was looking for you, we're making plans to go to Val Royeaux. Will you be coming?" The mention of the city yanked the threads of prevision, it was incredibly important.</p><p>"Of course," Mahra said, not hesitating, "When do we start?"</p><p>"Three days," Cassandra said, "I am looking forward to ending this heretic nonsense." The woman's face hardened at the word heretic, and Mahra nodded in agreement. She doubted that Val Royeaux would be the end of any kind of nonsense, but she was determined to follow these threads to their end.</p><p>"I'll be ready."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Panathe'sha - The Rush of Battle (Literally "fight happy")<br/>Morlanalin/Mamala - Grandmother/Grandma</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. E'lu'su'lean</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was sorely lacking motivation when writing this chapter, sorry. Also felt like being a lazy slacker so there's that too.</p><p>EDIT 7/12/2020:<br/>I looked at the maps again and realized that I read them VERY wrong about where Val Royeaux is so I went back and fixed it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The trip to Val Royeaux would take roughly a week. An estimated three or four days to Jader to catch a ship on the Waking Sea, then about three days on the water to the gilded city. There, they would speak with the Chantry mothers responsible for the declaration of the Inquisition as a heretical organization. Though, only two of the five group members was Andrastian, an irony that hadn't escaped them. Regardless of personal religious beliefs, the Chantry's support would be beneficial in the long run. And Mahra's prevision confirmed how important going to Val Royeaux would be. It was downright crucial.</p><p>Mahra's other focus was on magic, specifically, how to tell her friends that she had magic. Solas knew some of it, but not all. Varric had been friends with several apostates based on what she'd read in the Tale of the Champion, as well as her usual gut instincts telling her which details were important and true. Cassandra would not be happy for sure, just knowing that soured her stomach in dread. She decided that she would tell Cadash first, and if that went poorly she would run before anyone could stop her. If it went well, then she'd have him to back her up should anything regretful occur.</p><p>Varric was the one who pulled her out of her inner thoughts. "You're doing an awful lot of thinking, Coral." There was a silent, unasked invitation to open up.</p><p>"Vin, I know. It's dangerous." She deflected. Varric's brow raised curiously, "My father used to tell me when I was younger," Mahra dropped her voice in an impression of her father, "'<em>Ma'ashalan</em>, do not think so much, your head will swell,' and then I would ask him, '<em>Babae</em>, is that why your head is so big?'" Varric burst into laughter. "He never said any jokes like that to me again." She finished with a grin.</p><p>"Well now I know you were always this sassy," Varric smiled back, "I'd wondered if it was just us fanatics and fools." Mahra rolled her eyes at him.</p><p>"Goes to show how I feel in your company Ser Tethras." She snarked. She looked ahead to where Cadash was riding, flanked by Cassandra and Solas. Her heightened hearing let her catch a fair bit of their conversation. Something about the importance of the Chantry's favor and what to expect in Val Royeaux. The frustration was palpable in their voices, some differences of opinion. This was why Mahra avoided discussions on religion.</p><p>Varric had pulled out some kind of notebook, scratching away without too much hurry. Mahra decided to meditate, trusting her sturdy mule to carry her. She had turned down the other mounts, she'd liked the stubborn beast. Its gait was smooth and stuck close enough to the group that she never needed to bother much with the reins. She let the reins slack in her grip and sat back. The mule, taking notice of the posture change, lifted its head and its long ears stood at attention. When Mahra's eyes closed and she settled in the saddle, her mount leveled its stride.</p><p>She inhaled deeply, finding her center, then exhaled. Repeat. Felt the magic in her blood and followed it to the tangled skein that filled her mind and body. Fate, she'd often considered it, threads of destiny. The world around her dulled with her senses, the rocking of the mule below was the anchor that grounded her awareness. Mahra found her own thread, following it along the rope that formed the Inquisition. She couldn't 'see' what her future held, but she could at least gauge her direction. Her thread was close to the core of the thick cord that was building up the further it went, she was in the center of the future events.</p><p>Looking a little further down, there was a thick tangle. A knot. Mahra had encountered a few of these in her life, following the webs she'd seen. They were moments of true destiny, things that could not be changed or avoided. It was dense, finding individual threads was tricky, and she picked at it to try and find the important things she'd need to navigate the events coming. "<em>Sathan</em>," she pleaded in her mind space, feeling for any possible clues. Mahra dug her fingers into the matted mess, committing the feelings to memory. She found ambition, deception, doubt, betrayal. And one thread that was split, one end severed and the other led away. It was disturbing, she had never seen a life that looked like that. With a hiss, Mahra pulled herself out of her head and back into the waking world.</p><p>"Good nap?" Cadash asked. The marching order had changed while Mahra was meditating. The man's tone was laid back but his eyes held a concern. She must have made a face, either that or she had been out of it for a while.</p><p>"Not really," She said after a long pause, "Just thinking about Val Royeaux and what we're going to find there." Cadash sighed and frowned.</p><p>"Cassandra isn't looking forward to facing the Chantry," He told her, "And I don't want to deal with those soddin' clerics and mothers and what have you." Mahra grimaced slightly in commiseration.</p><p>"I'm worried it's going to be..." Mahra trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts, "More... complicated? Than we anticipated." The pitch of her voice raised as she spoke, making her anxiety known. Cadash raised an eyebrow at her, so she continued, "I trust my instincts, they're never wrong about these kinds of things."</p><p>"What kind of complicated are you expecting?" Cadash's tone turned serious.</p><p>"<em>Etunash</em>," Mahra swore through her teeth, noticing Solas's ears prick up slightly as she considered her next words, "It's not clear yet, but whatever waits for us is going to be ugly." Cadash gestured with his hand for her to keep talking. "I try to sift through everything but it's like trying to pick apart a mass of knots. We have time on the trip for me to make sense of it, but this is... We're going into a key event." The others had let their mounts drift closer, trying to eavesdrop subtly.</p><p>"So, you're telling me that you can see the future?" Cadash asked slowly, his doubt and disbelief written on his face and laced into his voice. Mahra shook her head.</p><p>"<em>Din</em>, no," She paused for a moment, "Imagine a life is a thread, all lives are threads. They meet other threads and weave and knot together and separate and fray and end. That is a person's life. I can follow the string and feel for information but I can't read that life as if it was a book, it's never that clear." Cadash was nodding slowly, taking in her confession with a grain of salt. "The Inquisition is a rope, a thick braided cord made of all the lives that make it possible. I can see the direction it's going, we're approaching a massive tangle in the threads. That means that something very big is going to happen. I'm trying to pick it apart but what I'm finding is..." She trailed off.</p><p>"It does not make sense." Solas finished her trail of thought for her. Mahra swallowed, but her mouth felt very dry. Everyone was focused on her. "<em>Mar el'las'in, da'mi</em>?"</p><p>"<em>Vin, es'an rya eolasem</em>." Mahra steeled herself, when she spoke again her voice wavered, "I am a mage." There was a very long silence, only Solas was not openly gawking. Mahra bit the inside of her cheek, her body tensed as if to bolt. A cool brush of magic settled on her shoulder, Solas's magic. It radiated calm against her nervous aura and she shakily exhaled.</p><p>"Shit." Varric said at last, breaking the pregnant pause.</p><p>"How?" Cassandra asked, no, demanded, "You do not fight like a mage, no one has felt your magic!" Mahra winced inwardly.</p><p>"Hedge mages have their own ways of hiding," Solas offered, "Even I only discovered her magic by observing her presence in the fade." Mahra shot him a glare, but he didn't acknowledge it.</p><p>"You knew!?" Cassandra's anger turned on Solas, "This whole time?"</p><p>"Everyone shut up!" Cadash shouted. They fell sharply back into silence as the he continued, "Mahra, I understand why you didn't say anything about your magic before, the world is a shit-show, it's never been a good time to be a mage and now more than ever. I'm just glad you trust me enough to tell me." The tension dropped off of Mahra's shoulders like a leaden cloak. "I'm more interested in the whole thread and rope thing? Are you a seer?"</p><p>Mahra shook her head, "No, I don't think so. I actually never tried general fortune telling. Most of what I know is scattered but always attached to major events, a word or a face or a name that brings a little knowledge with it. Everything else is guessing and hoping." She felt the weight come back a little. Varric sat up stiff.</p><p>"Coral, I have a question," The way he said it made the fine hairs along Mahra's spine stand up, "It's been many years now, but a friend of mine got a really weird letter one day. Some vague warning about the old Knight-Commander. That ring any bells?" She blushed, hard. Her skin burned and she wanted to curl in on herself. Varric burst out laughing. "Shit, I can't believe it! You wrote that letter?" She nodded, wishing she could crawl into a hole. Cadash and Solas looked perplexed, and Cassandra was fuming on the edge of listening distance.</p><p>"I wanted to help," She admitted in a small voice, "I don't know, it felt like the right idea."</p><p>"I mean, it was suspicious, never could figure out who sent it but Hawke definitely watched Meredith like a, well, a hawk after that tidbit. She wasn't exactly subtle to begin with but some of her crazy wasn't easy to spot at first." Mahra almost laughed at Varric's terrible pun, but there was an immense satisfaction in knowing that she'd made some kind of difference. The tension over the group started to lift as they fell back into conversation, though Cassandra remained cold towards her. Mahra tried not to let it bother her, but she knew the woman would need time to come to terms with the heavy truths she'd been dealt. Still, the thought of losing one of her new friends was painful.</p><p>As the sun started to sink, they left the road to set up the camp for the evening. Tents were erected, firewood gathered. Mahra grabbed out her flint and steel, still running on her habit of hiding any signs of magic. However, Solas lit the fire with his own magic before she could strike the metal to stone. She shot him a scowl, but there wasn't any genuine malice in the gesture. He was trying to encourage her to cast away all of those old habits, she didn't need to hide anymore. Cadash walked up to sit on the soft dirt next to the fire as Mahra poked more sticks into the small blaze.</p><p>"I'm going to have to tell my advisors about your magic," He said softly. Mahra set her jaw and nodded.</p><p>"I know," She replied, equally gentle in tone, "I knew before I told you."</p><p>"That's why the templars make you nervous," Cadash said, "I didn't realize at first, I though it was just the crowds but it's really specific people in the crowds."</p><p>"Well, all the <em>shems</em> walking around didn't help much," She added, "But yes, I don't like being around templars as long as I can help it. Never been smited before, smote?" Mahra paused, considering the proper terminology, "If I was in the blast zone of a smite, I'd have been exposed for sure. So it was safer to stick with archery in the Hinterlands." She noticed Cassandra settle in by the fire with a book, though she was just as likely to be eavesdropping as she was to be reading.</p><p>"I can respect that," Cadash said, "I heard you're good with a blade too, I'm hoping to see you fight sometimes."</p><p>"For you, <em>Lethallin</em>? Anytime." Mahra lifted her water skin with a toothy grin and took a swig.</p><p>"I confess, I am curious about what kind of magic you are capable of," Cassandra said at last, "We would have benefited from healing or offensive magics during our time in the Hinterlands." Mahra grimaced slightly.</p><p>"I don't know much in the way of healing," She confessed, "And I'm too much of a coward to use magic to fight where my allies can see me." Cassandra raised an angled eyebrow judgmentally. Mahra exhaled in a loud sigh. "I'll show you a little if you'd like."</p><p>Cassandra nodded, and that was the confirmation Mahra had been waiting for. She stood up and took a few steps away from the fire and from the others. She reached down into the earth with her magic, finding the roots below her. Feeding them mana, they thickened and turned up to the surface. It took only moments after she cast outward for a thick tangle of roots to breach into the air, turning the easy terrain into a complex knot around her. Anyone too close to Mahra would have been caught and restrained by the plant matter. She heard several gasps behind her, but she put the thought to off to the side. The roots shifted, sinking back below into the soil. The ground itself looked churned by the activity. Mahra turned around with a hopeful swell in her chest. Everyone except Solas looked gobsmacked. Solas himself simply looked pleased, almost smug. Mahra inhaled deeply, asking the party to keep an open mind as she showed them her other specialty.</p><p>"What kind of magic would that be?" Cadash asked.</p><p>"She is <em>d</em><em>un'himelan</em>," Solas answered unbidden, "It is favored with the witches of the wilds."</p><p>"And what is dun-something?" Varric asked, his quill flicking across the page as he took notes for what would likely be an account of the Herald of Andraste in the future.</p><p>"<em>Dun'himelan</em> means..." Mahra cut herself off with a grin, "Actually, I think I'll show you." There was a bubbling excitement welling up in her chest, making her feel giddy. Her usually toothy smile became sharper and toothier in a heartbeat as her form curled over on itself. In a flurry of magic and fur, she was replaced with a large brown wolf with eyes like polished steel. There was a long pause as she eyed them, and they eyed her in turn. Then she dropped into a bow, haunches raised. Her tail wagged.</p><p>"Shape-shifter," Cassandra breathed. Mahra barked, a happy 'wuff' sound. She hopped to the side and sneezed. Varric burst out laughing at the display, Cadash couldn't help but join in.</p><p>"No wonder you called her 'wolf sister', Chuckles," Varric said, wiping a tear from his eye. Cassandra still watched Mahra warily, but sat back down.</p><p>"Boof," Mahra said, smiling as only a wolf could at all the odd looks the group gave her. She hadn't been able to run on four legs in what felt like forever, so she began to race around outside the camp. After a few passes, she trotted up near the fire and rolled over onto Cadash. The dwarf yelped and laughed and hollered at her to get off of him. Her tail wagged with the speed a noblewoman's fan on a hot day, she felt so light and freed. She didn't change back until the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>E'lu'su'lean - Truth (literally Secret into the Light)<br/>Ma'ashalan - My Daughter<br/>Etunash - Shit<br/>Mar el'las'in, da'mi? - Your great secret, little blade?<br/>Vin, es'an rya eolasem - Yes, they must know</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Manalas'vharla</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things were better than good, quite frankly. Cassandra was still a bit leery towards Mahra, but having the secrets off her chest made her giddy. Varric and Cadash were treating her as they normally would, though Cadash teased her about tossing sticks for her to fetch or saving bones for her to chew. Solas no longer felt the need to keep quiet about all things magic and began to question her about her techniques, pointing out that she didn't use a staff when casting.</p><p>"It makes me a target," Mahra argued, "And I don't need to use any foci if I'm not casting in battle. Besides, I don't cast spells that require that sort of precision."</p><p>"And you have no interest in expanding your capabilities?" Solas continued, "Should a mage not strive to master their talents? To learn all that they are able?" Mahra scowled at him, and the infuriating man met her withering stare.</p><p>"I prefer to fight with physical weapons or with tooth and claw," She said, voice low and cold, "Those are the talents and capabilities that I am mastering." Solas merely quirked his eyebrow at her.</p><p>"I can respect a woman who knows her ability and is willing to hone it," Cassandra interjected, "There is something to be said for those who choose to truly master a weapon instead of spreading themselves thin over too many specialties."</p><p>"There is wisdom in mastery, Seeker," Solas agreed, "But there is value in having options." Cassandra nodded, and Mahra pressed her lips into a thin line.</p><p>"That is why I have two specialties in magic and two in martial weaponry," She pointed out, "I know some healing and elemental magics so that I can handle small problems on the road. I..." Mahra trailed off, "I won't let myself become dependent on slinging fire or lightning when push comes to shove. And I can't use a staff and my blades at the same time."</p><p>"You carry a quarterstaff," Solas pointed out, "Why not replace it with a magic one?"</p><p>"Solas has a point," Cassandra added, "The Inquisition has the resources to purchase a staff for you, or to make one to your preference." Mahra huffed loudly and pouted in a childlike manner.</p><p>"Fine!" She conceded, "I'll carry a staff, but I doubt I'll do more than hit people with it. If it breaks, I'm not buying a new one." Solas smiled, though Mahra could tell he was covering up a victorious smirk. Mahra narrowed her eyes, he wasn't radiating smugness but she was reasonably confident that it was a conscious effort of his part.</p><p>At least the ride to Jader would continue to be entertaining. She continued to examine the tangled strings that would be their Val Royeaux mission whenever she slept, and occasionally having to ignore the familiar looming presence on the edge of her dream space. It never tried to enter, but it was unsettling.</p><p>Several threads, people, would connect to the Inquisition in Val Royeaux. They would link to Cadash first, then through him they would join the rope that was growing stronger each day. Cadash, the proclaimed Herald or heretic, was the key. The split thread, the one that scared Mahra, was fragile to look at. Its fate would lie with Cadash. Another odd thread resembled the split one in that regard, but it gave off a foreboding energy. It screamed danger. Mahra reached for it, but hesitated before she could touch. She pulled her hand back quickly and woke with a start.</p><p>Sunlight was dulled by the canvas tent, but it was beginning to get brighter outside. Cassandra was rising too, and the women greeted each other with good mornings and <em>on dhea</em>'s and prepared for the day ahead. They would reach Jader by mid afternoon if there weren't any surprises on the road.</p><p>"You ever been on a ship, Boots?" Varric asked, "I know Seeker, Coral, and I have. What about you Chuckles?" Mahra's heightened senses could detect a hint of salt on the air, the Waking Sea wasn't much further away.</p><p>"Never," Cadash frowned, "I like my feet firmly on the ground." Mahra decided not to point out that riding a mount left his feet in the air despite the stirrups.</p><p>"I have sailed before," Solas said, "The Fade is much less interesting on the water, however. There are rarely memories that can be found in dreaming with the sea." He glanced in Mahra's direction, but only for a moment. She almost missed it.</p><p>"Anyone know for sure if they get seasick?" Mahra asked, "I doubt I'll be holding back anyone's hair but I'd like to be aware."</p><p>"I'll be fine, but I'm staying away from the edge," Varric said, "I don't want to fall off."</p><p>"Ah, yes," Cassandra smiled, "You cannot swim." Varric frowned at her.</p><p>"Laugh it up, Seeker. You'd miss me if I drown."</p><p>"If you fall in, I can save you," Mahra told the dwarf, "Bears are strong swimmers." There was a pause while her wording sank in.</p><p>"Of course you can turn into a bear," Cadash grumbled, "Why didn't you say so?" Mahra shrugged.</p><p>"Next time we're in a scrap I'll be a bear," She gave him her signature sharp toothed grin with a wink for good measure, "Just for you, <em>Lethallin</em>. Hey Varric, you're friends with sailors, yeah? When we're on the water, we ought to swap sea shanties. I know many."</p><p>Varric smiled, and agreed, and the two of them began to talk about the various sea-farers they'd met over the years. Cadash joined a friendly conversation with Cassandra and Solas, though Mahra didn't listen to whatever they were discussing. It was friendly enough. They'd all come so much closer to each other since they first ventured into the Hinterlands over a month ago. While they could get snappish with each other, it felt much like a family. Like a new pack, in Mahra's opinion.</p><p>Jader itself was stretched long along the coastline, white sails gleaming in the sunlight across what seemed like hundreds of ships. The air was brisk and carried a briny dampness that made Mahra's nose twitch. It had been years since she'd been by the sea, and the scent of salt and fish and pitch and payed wood was made her feel nostalgic. She inhaled deeply, and exhaled loudly, grin cemented onto her face. The road was busier this close to the port, merchants and travelers lined the several thoroughfares visible. The noise from within the city carried on the sea breeze.</p><p>"Ah, the smell of the sea," Varric was waxing poetic somewhere behind her, "Feels like home." Mahra doubted any of the group was looking at her, but she nodded regardless. He was beginning to weave stories about the adventures he'd had at the Kirkwall docks with Hawke and their friends. Mahra wasn't listening much, she felt a thread pulling from Jader, and knew it would be involved in a matter of importance in the future. It was far too crowded to pick at in the present, so she left it.</p><p>Pedestrians parted as Cassandra's horse led the group to the city proper, to a stable that Ambassador Montilyet had recommended. Mahra couldn't even to begin to guess how many people that woman knew, or how far her connections reached. Even if she wanted to know, she doubted that she could even count the threads in Josephine's web. It would be like counting drops in the ocean, or snowflakes in a blizzard. The groom at the stables took one look at the emblem on Cassandra's armor and jumped to assist them put away the mounts, promising the utmost care. The Ambassador was proof that ruffles and lace did not make someone less powerful or intimidating.</p><p>They met up with the captain who was to take them to the gilded city. Their chartered ship, La Dame Peinte, the Painted Lady, was to set sail in the morning just after the eighth bell. Which left them the rest of the afternoon to kill. They rented rooms at a decent inn with a bar and kitchen on the ground floor, and separated to do whatever they wanted to. Mahra decided she wanted to visit the docks, much like she'd done as a child in Gwaren.</p><p>Sea air made the brown strands of hair that escaped her braid feel softer than they would in drier weather, and the calls of the gulls took her back to the years she'd spent listening to sailors gossip and sing. Mahra remembered the Avvar woman who'd told her about reincarnation, and what it meant for her. Mahra planted herself on some old abandoned crates and took in her surroundings. She pulled out her journal and began to write her latest recollections, though it was nothing very helpful. Whispers of songs came to mind and she recorded them diligently, humming as she did so. Sea shanties of course, it was interesting how many of them she'd known.</p><p>Bits of gab and causerie floated by in the bustle, and several tidbits pulled at threads. A faction of templars had been reuniting under a Lord Seeker, out of the mage and templar conflicts. Chevaliers under Empress Celene and Grand Duke Gaspard were still clashing in the Exalted Plains and it was very bloody. Mahra wrote down anything that rang of importance to her list of information that she knew she would need to explain to the Nightingale. Hours passed as she enjoyed the environment before she made her way back to the inn.</p><p>The crew of La Dame Peinte, she guessed by the presence of their captain, was in the middle of a drinking song; one that Mahra knew by heart already. Several members of her party were seated nearby, wearing various expressions ranging between amusement and annoyance. Mahra grabbed a cider and some food at the bar, paid while she was there, and joined their table with a grin.</p><p>"Feels like home don't it, Storyteller?" She asked, having to raise her voice to be heard over a Ferelden sailor's opening lines of Andraste's Mabari.</p><p>"It certainly does," Varric almost shouted back, "Never thought I'd miss the Hanged Man so much! I wonder if Curly knows this song?" Cadash snorted into his tankard.</p><p>"You would need to ask him, Master Tethras," Solas said, sipping his water, "I find myself surprised you can work in these conditions." Mahra laughed.</p><p>"Background noise, Solas," She said with a smile, "Like birdsong or wind in the trees. Though I imagine a true hermit like yourself wouldn't be able to tune it out."</p><p>"I would not consider myself a recluse, but if this is what it means to be engaged in society I am willing to believe that I could be," Solas said, unimpressed. Mahra shrugged at him and took a large swig.</p><p>"It's barely sundown," Cassandra frowned, her brows furrowing in bewilderment.</p><p>"All the better to sleep it off, I suppose," Cadash downed the last of his ale, "Sober up overnight with less of a hangover." Mahra shrugged over the rim of her mug. She noticed that Varric's mug was barely halfway emptied, and absently wondered how many drink he'd had. Cadash was still perfect level headed, but she didn't know his tolerance. She couldn't see what was in Cassandra's cup, but she couldn't smell anything from it so she guessed it could also be water. Or having she was overwhelmed by all the different smells in the inn. That was another possibility.</p><p>Mahra chewed slowly, listening to her friends chatter away. The drunken sailors were finished eating and starting to filter out, making way for the other ships' crews. Solas and Cassandra frowned at the realization that there was likely to be more raucous gatherings in the immediate future. Mahra grinned, wide and full of teeth as she always did.</p><p>"Just like home!" She declared proudly, feeling the cider taking the honed edges off of her senses. She was a little tipsy, but she knew her limits and she'd be completely sober by the time she turned in. For that reason, she decided against a refill. Cadash, however, was on another pint of ale.</p><p>"I hope you know what you're doing, Herald," Cassandra was using the tone of voice that she reserved for those who were doing stupid things.</p><p>"It's like watered down piss," Cadash replied, wiping foam from his impressive facial hair, "I'm barely tipsy. Besides, Mahra is drunker than I am."</p><p>"I am," Mahra agreed, enthusiastic. Solas was fighting a smile, but Varric laughed.</p><p>Everyone turned in early that night, looking forward to sleeping in actual beds. They got three rooms instead of two, since there wouldn't be beds enough for three in the room the men shared. Mahra was indeed coming down from the alcohol's influence by the time she fell into the blankets and the mattress. Sleep came quickly for the group, and so did the dawn.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Manalas'vharla - Port (Lit. Shore Town)<br/>On dhea - Good morning</p><p>***<br/>So I'd hoped to put them ON the stupid ship by now but of course the characters wanted to do other things and the chapter got too long for what I wanted to do.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Sulahn Tarsul'or Manaan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They boarded La Dame Peinte that morning, dropping off their bags in the guest cabin. There were four sets of bunks, two beds to each. They'd be sharing a room for the several days they'd be on the open sea. Mahra was quick to claim a top bunk, and Cassandra took the one below her. They may be in coed sleeping quarters, but the Seeker's sense of propriety extended to sharing bunk beds as well it seemed. Mahra couldn't have cared less, having spent at least week's worth of nights spooning and getting spooned by Vashoth mercenaries male and female. She thought better of telling Cassandra though.</p><p>The ship swayed , the waters choppy so close to the shoreline. Mahra's old knowledge told her that it would be smoother when they sailed to open water, and one of the sailors confirmed it for her when she asked. That was all her past life could tell her about sailing. Poor Cadash was looking a little green as the vessel bobbed. She assured him it would be better in a few hours, and sent him a little healing magic through a comforting pat on the back. He thanked her, his pallor darkening back to his normal sun tanned color most of the way.</p><p>With cargo loaded, the sailors began to move quickly. Ropes were hauled, sails lowered, anchor lifted. The captain they had spoken to the day prior, Captain Archambeau as Mahra learned, directed the passengers below deck. Mahra glanced up to see the fore sail's boom sweep in a lazy fashion across the entire deck. Shouts not unfamiliar between sailors let them coordinate the machinations of the ship and with a gentle lurch, the wind caught the fore sail. They were moving.</p><p>Mahra was the first of the party to head topside. A gust tugged at her braid and she untied it and pulled out the leather strap. Her hair whipped around her head with the air current, and she was sure she was looking more feral than ever. The ship swayed slightly as La Dame Peinte carved through the water like butter under a blade. Slowly, the others joined her on the deck. Cadash was still an odd hue of green but it was much less noticeable than before.</p><p>"Better?" She asked, giving his shoulder a squeeze. No healing that time, Mahra hoped he'd find his sea legs soon and wouldn't need to rely on magic.</p><p>"A bit," Cadash said, "It's not so bad when we're movin', like you said." Varric had his back to the captain's quarters and was settling in to do some writing. Cassandra was at the bow of the ship, looking out to the horizon northward. Solas stood beside her, and Mahra could hear wisps of conversation floating by on the wind.</p><p>"...I suppose you are right," Cassandra was saying, "Repairing the damage done will take great effort."</p><p>"Were they more like you, Seeker," Solas replied, his voice friendly and posture relaxed. Mahra stopped listening, it wasn't her business after all. She looked out at the sea, hoping to catch a glimpse of a larger animal in the water. Her mind supplied images of massive beasts, beautiful and gentle. Whales, they were called. She'd heard sailors speak of them, and she hoped to see one herself.</p><p>The crew had calmed down, being on the open sea meant less hauling rope and directing canvas sails. They fell into a rhythm, one built on years of experience and comraderie. Mahra wanted to clamber up the rigging like climbing rocks or trees but she resisted the urge out of respect for the captain and the ship. Though she did decide that she would ask later. It couldn't hurt.</p><p>Cadash retreated below deck, probably hoping to reduce his queasiness. Mahra wished she'd thought to purchase ginger in the port town, despite the highly exaggerated price it would have been helpful in managing seasickness. Cassandra joined Mahra looking out over the side of the ship, smiling when she heard the elf's eagerness to see a whale. Varric gave a shout to remind Mahra of her promise to sing some of the sailing songs she knew, which Cassandra rolled her eyes about.</p><p>One of the sailors overheard, a massive human male with wild hair, small eyes, and several scars on his face. "You know shanties or sea songs?" He asked, squinting down at her slightly. Cassandra bristled at the man's leering but Mahra had mastered bravado at an early age.</p><p>"Both," She said, "Born and raised in Gwaren, spent many long hours at the docks. Learned a lot." Mahra leaned back agains the side of the ship and crossed her arms in a display of casual cockiness. She knew of sailors' tendencies towards hazing new crew members, though she didn't think they would be directed at chartered passengers. If the man was hoping to intimidate her, she wasn't going to react. Varric and Solas had taken notice of the tension but were thankfully quiet. The last thing Mahra wanted was for someone to step in to try and defend her.</p><p>"Is that so?" The sailor made a point of looking over her, head to toe. Then he grinned, "You're confident, I'll give ye that." The tension started to ease, Mahra must have passed whatever test he'd had in mind.</p><p>"Storyteller, feeling like grabbing Cadash?" Mahra called out, "I'm feeling a sea song right about now." Someone, Mahra didn't really pay much attention, ran to grab the seasick dwarf and spread the word that one of La Dame Peinte's passengers was going to sing for them. It was alarming how many people found a seat or comfortable place to stand on the deck.</p><p>"Give us a show, Coral," Varric said with a smile, journal and quill at the ready to record whatever song Mahra chose. She tasted iron in her throat with sudden performance anxiety, but swallowed it as best she could. She'd promised to sing after all.</p><p>"<em>It's a damn tough life full of toil and strife we whaler men undergo. And we don't give a damn when the day is done how hard the winds did blow. 'Cause we're homeward bound from the Arctic ground with a good ship, taut and free, and we won't give a damn when we drink our rum with the girls of Old Maui</em>!" Mahra lifted her voice and began the chorus, "<em>Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys, rolling down to Old Maui! We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to Old Maui!Once more we sail with a northerly gale towards our island home. Our mainmast sprung, our whaling done, and we ain't got far to roam. Six hellish months have passed away on the cold Kamchatka Sea, but now we're bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to Old Maui!</em>"</p><p>When Mahra began chorus came again, several sailors joined in to harmonize, "<em>Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys, rolling down to Old Maui! We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to Old Maui!</em>" Someone had pulled out a frame drum and was beating out a rhythm to accompany the melody, several people clapped to the beat.</p><p>"<em>Once more we sail with a northerly gale towards our island home. Our mainmast sprung, our whaling done, and we ain't got far to roam.</em>" Mahra's voice went up in her pitch, carrying proud on the wind, "<em>Six hellish months have passed away on the cold Kamchatka Sea, but now we're bound from the Arctic ground rolling down to Old Maui!</em>"</p><p>The third time she sang the chorus brought more voices, and Mahra's party looked on in wonder at the blending of vocal types and ranges.</p><p>"<em>Once more we sail with a northerly gale through the ice and wind and rain! Them coconut fronds, them tropical lands we soon shall see again. Our stu'n's'l booms is carried away, what care we for that sound? A living gale is after us, oh Maker, we're homeward bound!</em>"</p><p>"<em>Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys, rolling down to Old Maui! We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to Old Maui!</em>"</p><p>Mahra lowered her pitch, singing soft and calm, "<em>How soft the breeze through the island trees, now the ice is far astern. Them native maids, them tropical glades is a-waiting our return. Even now their big brown eyes look out hoping some fine day to see, our baggy sails runnin' 'fore the gales rolling down to old Maui.</em>"</p><p>The chorus picked up in enthusiasm again, Mahra grinning as she sang.</p><p>"<em>And now we're anchored in the bay with the Kanakas all around, with chants and soft aloha oes they greet us homeward bound. And now ashore we'll have good fun we'll paint them beaches red, awaking in the arms of a wahine with a big fat aching head!</em>" The description of the aftermath of a bawdy night of drinking made several people snicker, and Mahra didn't miss Cassandra's blush. She hadn't realized the woman was so shy.</p><p>The final chorus had Varric and Cadash joining as well, the harmony of so many voices drowning out any tone deafness the dwarves had, "<em>Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys, rolling down to Old Maui! We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to Old Maui!</em>" The final notes fades out to rapturous applause and cheers and enthusiastic slapping of backs and shoulders. Captain Archambeau looked pleased by the obvious boost in crew morale, and slipped through the crowd to request that Mahra make sure to teach them the song before they reached the port in Val Royeaux. She agreed readily. She'd never had such an amazing experience, singing with so many voices.</p><p>"Shit," Cadash told her, "That was incredible." He wasn't green around the gills anymore, must have found his sea legs. Solas made his way to Mahra's side.</p><p>"Memories in the fade are difficult to find while sailing, but I believe the spirits on the open sea will be reenacting your song for many years to come," He said, fingers clasped behind his back. There was a smile on his face, a look of genuine delight instead of the smug grins he usually directed in Mahra's direction. "I have seen such harmonies in the fade before, I did not believe that I would ever witness such power in mortal voices in the waking." That made her blush vividly.</p><p>A scene came to mind, a voice in the back of her head whispering with Solas's voice, describing what he referenced. She'd never heard him mention it before, how would her past life have heard it? No one noticed the sudden confusion in her eyes under the pinkness of her face, or at least no one commented on it. Mahra hoped it was the former instead of the latter. That was not a discussion she wanted to have at all, and other than the single mention of having past life to Solas a year prior she'd told no one. She wasn't even sure why she'd told him, but that was done and in the past.</p><p>The following day, Mahra told her party and the captain that she was going for a flight alongside the ship. Cassandra was more comfortable with her magic, but was still a little apprehensive. The others were very interested in seeing what she looked like as a bird. With a very wide, toothy grin, Mahra sprinted to the side of the ship and leapt off the railing. She shifted mid-air into a massive reddish brown bird. Her wings, head, and tail were laced with white feathers, her beak and feet a bright yellow tipped with black. A golden eagle. She pumped her wings, catching a powerful updraft that carried her up above the gleaming canvas sails.</p><p>With her sharp eyes, she could see that they were far from either side of the Waking Sea's shores. There was nothing on the horizon but water, a helpful voice in the back of her mind described it as 'wine dark'. It wasn't red, but the darkness its depths held could be viewed as the same kind of darkness as a glass of red wine. Mahra soared for a long time, delighting in the wind through her feathers. She looked down at the ship, watching the people on the deck moving around and working.</p><p>And so the few days they spent on La Dame Peinte went by quickly and easily. Mahra and Varric and the crew swapped songs, writing them down for later. Mahra already knew The Storm Coast's Claim and Hero in Every Port, those were popular inland as well as on ships. She enjoyed conversations, and flying, and getting tangled in the rigging. Varric promised that he would never let her live that one down as several sailors laughed and tried to figure out how she'd gotten so entangled. She swore in several languages at all of them before shape-shifting her way out of the rope.</p><p>On the third day, gold gleamed in the horizon. Val Royeaux, the gilded city, at last.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sulahn Tarsul'or Manaan - Song Upon The Sea</p><p>Song: Rolling Down to Old Maui, as written in the journal of George Piper around 1866-1872</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Haurasha Mor'vharla</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ha, ha ha ha... It's been more than a month since I last updated... I procrastinate way too much. As always, much love &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Val Royeaux was massive. The gilded Sun Gates glittered so brightly that Cadash and his group had to squint if they looked at it. The Avenue of the Sun, the major highway that ran into and through the city, was filled with merchants and groups of people. Chevaliers patrolled in groups, their presence making the elves duck and cower ever so slightly. Mahra didn't bother to hide her sneer when the tilt of a Chevalier helmet hinted at a leer in the party's direction.</p><p>As they approached the Summer Bazaar, an ornately dressed woman in a golden mask gasped at them in obvious terror and tottered away. Varric laughed, enjoying the ridiculous reactions, but Cassandra looked very concerned.</p><p>"Just a guess Seeker, but I think they all know who we are..." Varric said as Cadash glanced around with wide eyes. Mahra had a feeling that this was his first time in Val Royeaux. It was hers too, but by the point of her ears she was already too disillusioned to marvel at the architecture. She could see the blackened soot stain in the shadows, the remnants of the Val Royeaux alienage.</p><p>"Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric," Cassandra replied dryly, Solas's lips twitched into a hidden smile of amusement. Stoic persona aside, he did enjoy the sarcastic jabs between the warrior and the rogue. A scout in the standard uniform of Leliana's agents approached in a hurry.</p><p>"My Lord Herald," she said, respectfully kneeling. She didn't react at all to the grimace on Cadash's face at the title. Mahra listened as Cassandra took over the conversation with the scout, keeping her senses open to potential threats to her friends' lives. She could see an indistinct blob of Orlesian citizens, or "Royans" as they called themselves, gathering in the Bazaar. </p><p>The scout informed them that Templars had returned to the city, and that the Royans and Chantry were expecting them to act as a shield against the Inquisition. The information left a sour taste in Mahra's mouth, something was about to go very wrong. Several faces turned to her, and she tried to smile reassuringly but instead she looked rather constipated. </p><p>"They wish to protect the people," Cassandra started, hardly believing the words coming from her own mouth, "From us?" </p><p>"I suppose this is related to the 'key event' that Mahra was concerned with," Solas replied, lacing his fingers together behind his back. Mahra nodded in confirmation.</p><p>"What do you expect from this meeting?" Cadash asked, his face hardened in determination. He was taking the news seriously, as the Inquisition's figurehead should. Mahra took a quick swig of water from her water skin to wet her dry mouth and recalled the knot in the web.</p><p>"It's tangled too tight to recognize which thread is doing what," She began, "But someone is going to be betrayed, maybe several someones. There's an overwhelming amount of ambition and deception in the knot. And there's threads like I've never seen before, one splits and the other..." Mahra trailed off. Everyone's expressions turned serious. </p><p>"Well Coral," Varric said after a pregnant pause, "That explains what you meant before by 'complicated'." He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. </p><p>"Regardless," Cassandra said, taking the lead, "We must be ready for anything. If a fight breaks out with the templars we will be at a significant disadvantage." They nodded as she suggested a formation, with warriors in the front and mages in the rear. Cadash crossed his arms and agreed with the plan. </p><p>The thoroughfare beyond the second gate was lined with statues. Plaques, several of which happened to be defiled, assigned names and deeds to the likenesses depicted in stone. As they approached the mob, Mahra noticed several members of the Chantry standing on a wooden platform. There were loyalist mages in Circle robes standing alongside a few chevaliers surrounding the podium as guards and a single, dark skinned templar standing beside the Revered Mother.</p><p>"Good people of Val Royeaux," The woman began, her thick Orlesian accent coloring her use of the Trade tongue, "Hear me!" Her voice carried over the crowd, the skill of a practiced public speaker. She called on the collective sorrow of Thedas over the loss of Divine Justinia, insulting and praising the deceased woman in the same breath.</p><p>"Naive heart?" Cadash echoed under his breath, Cassandra grunted in irritation.</p><p>"Behold, the so called Herald of Andraste!" The Mother continued, her sharp eyes landing on Cadash and her face twisting in a scowl. Cadash grimaced, but didn't back down as they walked forward to meet the woman on the edge of the stage. She spat the word 'dwarf' at the group as though it were an insult, accusing Cadash of being a false prophet and murderer. The mob shouted indistinctly, their hatred palpably clouding the air. Mahra felt her hackles rise.</p><p>"Enough!" Edric Cadash boomed over the angry Royans, "The Inquisition extends a hand in peace and fellowship and you treat us as adversaries and criminals!" The Revered Mother opened her mouth to retaliate but Cadash wasn't finished. "We must work together for the good of Thedas, in Justinia's memory! We must seal the Breach and honor her dream!" The crowd's angry roaring swiftly gave way to murmuring and the hate faded into uncertainty. </p><p>The Revered Mother gawked for several heartbeats before Cassandra raised her voice to join Cadash, "It's true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!"<br/>
"It is already too late," The Mother's face turned smug. The crowd parted with gasps as a platoon of templars marched into the Bazaar and toward the platform. "The Templars have returned to the Chantry!" The woman continued, "They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once mo-!" She was cut off as an armored fist collided with the side of her head. Several people in the audience screamed at the Revered Mother hit the dais with a heavy sounding thud. The templar who had been standing by her side startled, and took a step forward to help the woman before a higher ranked man raised a hand to command a halt.</p><p>"Still yourself," A stubbly man with silver hair pulled back in a short ponytail told the younger templar, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "She is beneath us." The lower ranked man looked doubtful, but didn't disobey. Mahra recognized him, and the silver haired man, as important threads. But looking at the older templar made her stomach churn. Something was very off about that man.<br/>
"Even a heretical dwarf such as I knows better than to strike an unarmed old bat, let alone a Revered Mother of the Chantry," Cadash spat, his voice carried across the square, "Explain to us," he gestured to the alarmed and anxious Royans around him, "What exactly are you doing?" Mahra snuck a glance at her companions. Varric was observing the exchange with a steely look, as was Solas. Cassandra looked like her world view was beginning to crack.</p><p>"Her claim to authority is an insult," The templar stated, "Much like your own." Cassandra snapped out of her reverie and stepped forward to intercept the man as he began to exit stage left. </p><p>"Lord Seeker Lucius!" She shouted, "It is imperative that we speak with-."</p><p>"You will not address me." The man, Lord Seeker Lucius, rounded on Cassandra, stopping her in her tracks. She stared at him, dumbfounded.</p><p>"Lord Seeker?" Cassandra's voice was steady, but Mahra had grown to know the woman well enough to detect the tremor underneath her armor.</p><p>"Creating a heretical movement, raising up a dwarven puppet as Andraste's prophet," Lord Seeker Lucius took a step forward with each offense he listed, and Cassandra took a bewildered step back, "You should be ashamed!" </p><p>"What in the Maker's name?" Varric hissed under his breath. Mahra's shape-shifting heightened sense of hearing picked up on it well enough.</p><p>"You should all be ashamed!" The Lord Seeker turned outward to the stupefied audience, "The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who have failed! You, who'd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!" He then turned to stare down Cadash, an almost unhinged glint in his eyes, "If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine!"</p><p>"So you're here to demand respect?" Cadash replied, matching the Lord Seeker's voice in strength, "Looks to me like you're here to make a scene. If you templars want reverence, you're doing a piss poor job of earning it." The dwarf crossed his arms, glaring at the templars with all the power of a furious mother at her unruly brood. The Lord Seeker was unaffected, but Mahra was grateful that Cadash hadn't looked at her like that before.</p><p>"I came to see what frightens old women so," Lord Seeker Lucius taunted in a blend of insulting bemusement and deep-rooted loathing, "And to laugh." He smirked, the scars on his face twisting the expression into something almost monstrous. </p><p>"But Lord Seeker," The young templar from before approached, to the elder man's obvious displeasure, "What if he really was sent by the Maker?" His voice was low, but his apprehension clear. "What if-?"<br/>
"You are called to a higher purpose," The templar who'd punched the Revered Mother cut him off, "Do not question." The order left a sour taste in Mahra's mouth, and a quick glance confirmed her companions felt the same way. </p><p>"I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void!" The Lord Seeker declared, bellowing his intent across the crowded Bazaar, "We deserve recognition! Independence! You have shown me nothing," He whirled on Cadash, but looked pointedly at Cassandra, "And the Inquisition, less than nothing. Templars!" The platoon, plus the young templar that had been guarding the Chantry Mothers, saluted, "Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!" They about faced in militant formation, and moved out. The clanking of armor and shields faced to the panicked tittering of the citizens.</p><p>"Well shit," Varric offered, the first of the group to speak in the stunned silence that had followed the templars' departure, "Charming fellow, isn't he?"</p><p>"Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad!?" Cassandra snapped out of her stunned daze.</p><p>"Probably," Cadash said, the bluster drained out of him, "Do you know him very well?" Mahra exchanged a worried glance with Varric. Solas was looking out at the disbursing rally.</p><p>"He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert's death," Cassandra explained, her brows drawn tight in worry, "He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is very bizarre."</p><p>"That was not the man you knew," Mahra said softly, letting her awareness pull inward ever so slightly, "There's something strange about him, something very wrong." She looked at Solas, the only other mage in the group, "Did you notice anything?"</p><p>The bald apostate frowned in thought, "I did not. If you are suggesting a case of demonic possession, then it would be too subtle to leave more than trace amounts of evidence in the air, which would disburse far too quickly to find now." Cassandra scowled.</p><p>"Seekers are immune to possession," She ground out between clenched teeth, "He is not an abomination."</p><p>"Demon or no," Cadash interrupted, rubbing his temples, "The Templar Order wants nothing to do with us, sodding Chantry affiliation or no." Cassandra's frown became less aggressive, but didn't soften in the least.</p><p>"I wouldn't write the Templars off just yet, Herald," She ignored Cadash's 'ugh!' of protest, "Not all of them will agree with the Lord Seeker's plans, some of them may yet be open to... Persuasion. There must be members of the Order who see what he's become."</p><p>"The young templar who stood by the Revered Mother," Solas suggested, "I do not know if he spoke loud enough for human or dwarven ears to hear from such a distance, but he did not appear to be compliant as his fellows." Mahra glanced towards the podium, where the Mother was being tended to by her attending clerks.</p><p>"Our kind, ever helpful Revered Mother may know his name," Mahra suggested, "Lady Leliana may be able to pull some strings with that kind of information."</p><p>"I have no idea how many pies that woman has fingers in," Cadash said, frowning, "I'm sure she'd be able to find him just as well without the Chantry's help." Varric grinned, scenting potential weakness in the air.</p><p>"Are you afraid of Chantry Mothers, Boots?" He asked in jest, making the scruffier dwarf stare at him in offended betrayal.</p><p>"No!" Cadash said very quickly, "I just don't do so well with..." He trailed off, looking at the almost bereft woman, "Comforting people." Varric clapped the man over the shoulder.</p><p>"Worry not, your worship," Varric grinned, his word choice thick with theatrics, "Varric Tethras, author, rogue, and charmer of all sorts, at your service." The moment the dwarf made to take a step, however, an arrow embedded itself in the stone at his feet. He made a rather undignified yelp as he leapt back.</p><p>"Whuzzat!?" Cadash made to grab his sword, but Cassandra stopped his wrist.</p><p>"An arrow with a message?" She asked, wrenching the offending stick out of the cobbled street. It had been embedded surprisingly deep. The scroll was tied on with ribbon in a brilliant shade of scarlet. Beautiful, especially when compared to scrawling scribbled letters written on the stained parchment. Mahra could smell the mustard that had dripped onto and wiped off of the sheet.</p><p>"Red Jenny?" Cadash asked, reading the message, "I've heard of the Jennies. I wonder what they want with us."</p><p>"One way to find out," Mahra said, "We find the red things."</p><p>"If this is supposed to be a map, it is a very poor attempt," Solas commented. Varric shrugged.</p><p>"We can look for the red things after we talk to the Mother," he suggested, "That sound good?" Agreements were sounded, and they again made to move towards the dais. The second interruption was a messenger with a written invitation to a soiree held by Montsimmard's First Enchanter, Vivienne De Fer. The salon was not for another several days, which indicated a longer stay in Val Royeaux than initially planned. Mahra hadn't expected so many important items to appear, one after another. Of course, it was not the final unexpected appearance.</p><p>"Grand Enchanter Fiona?" The older elven woman quietly discussed the spectacle that had just occurred in the Bazaar, before inviting Cadash to Redcliffe to meet with the other rebel mages. Mahra wasn't expecting her stomach to twist violently at the mention of Redcliffe, but she covered her mouth with her hand and looked down until the woman left.</p><p>"Looking pretty pale there, Coral," Varric said, "Are you alright?" Mahra promptly vomited into the closest bush.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Haurasha Mor'vharla - The Golden City</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Eral Or’asalan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oof, it's been a <i>LONG</i> time since I updated this. My hyper-focusing tendencies switched fandoms a few times and I stopped playing DA for a good while. I've bounced a couple times, went through a few periods of wallowing in lethargy and behaving overall like a Victorian heroine with consumption. However, much like a cat at 3 am, my episodes of zoomies has drawn me back to writing once again.<br/>My pride (what dregs of it exist) would not let me start my new ideas without at least finishing this chapter for you patient folks here. Yes, new ideas. I can't just pick with something and stick with it, so anyone who likes the Elder Scrolls can look forward to some dumb isekai/transmigration ridiculousness in the near future. <br/>Seriously, I love you guys. I'm awful with keeping an update schedule, it's the middle of March and my last chapter went up in <b>August</b>! But here's another chapter before I officially tag this with semi-hiatus and sporadic updates. As a treat</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A scout escorted them to the inn so kindly booked by Lady Josephine. After the Grand Enchanter had departed, Mahra's queasiness had calmed down. It wasn't hard to figure out that Fiona was the weird thread in the knot she'd been sifting through. Everyone was concerned when she'd gotten sick, and it wasn't until she'd been sat down and given water that they started to believe her when she said she was doing better.</p>
<p><br/>
"Fiona's thread is split and broken," Mahra explained, back to her warm reddish brown complexion, "Being close to her made me sick." It was troubling her, how the closer she was to these events, the more complex everything became.</p>
<p><br/>
"I'm not even gonna to begin to guess why," Cadash said, scowling thoughtfully, "You've been able to glimpse details from the future for almost your whole life, what's changed?" Solas was sitting quietly, his fingers tenting in front of his face as he pondered her situation.</p>
<p><br/>
"Distance?" Varric suggested, "You're actually here, it might be related."</p>
<p>"That's what I was thinking," Mahra said softly, "It might also be the... The abnormal threads. I need to study them better tonight, try to understand what's wrong."</p>
<p>"If I may," Solas spoke up, speaking cautiously, "I am able to enter the dreams of others. With your permission, I could examine these 'abnormal' threads with you." There was an extended silence, Cassandra eyeing the man with a frown. "I have been able to walk the Fade since my magic manifested, Seeker. I have had no trouble with its denizens, neither Mahra nor I will be at risk of possession." The woman was radiating dubiousness but she didn't say anything about it.</p>
<p>Mahra pondered Solas's offer. She wanted help, but the idea of having him in her dreams was a little anxiety inducing. Her gut twisted ever so slightly, lacing her through with doubt. Worse was the confusion, she didn't know why she was so mistrustful of the other mage all of a sudden. He'd been dependable thus far, a bit odd though that could be attributed to his prior solitude. A mystery for another time perhaps. Another thread to investigate.</p>
<p>"I'd be willing to let you in, this time," She said, careful with her phrasing, "But we will need to set some rules for my dream." Solas's lips twitched in a gentle smile and he nodded.</p>
<p>"Of course," He said, "I would expect nothing less in this regard." Varric and Cadash looked a bit uncomfortable about the idea of sharing dreams, but it was to be expected of dwarves. Varric looked especially ill at ease. He's had experience with it somehow, the old voice in the back of Mahra's mind whispered to her. Varric put on a calm face, but her knowing gaze made him look away.</p>
<p>"Whatever you mages are gonna do tonight is your business," Cadash piped up, "But first we're going to look for this 'baddie' the Jenny mentioned. I'd prefer to be on the Friends' good side if possible." </p>
<p>"They're not people you want on your bad side, that's for sure," Varric added, "Practically impossible to track and unbelievably good at inconveniencing those who piss them off." Sounded right, so Mahra nodded in agreement.</p>
<p>"The Jenny is important, I wouldn't recommend leaving Val Royeux without following those clues," She told them, "I have a feeling about this. I also have a feeling about the invitation from Vivienne De Fer. We, or rather you, should attend her salon."</p>
<p>"I'd ask if it was a good feeling or a bad feeling, but since you want me to go, I'm guessing it's a good one." Cadash said, his voice flat and tone sarcastic. Mahra winced slightly, but smiled at him nonetheless. </p>
<p>"The First Enchanter's salon is not for several days," Cassandra spoke up, "The invitation does not specify who exactly is permitted to come, Hera-" She paused in the middle of the title, "Cadash, you will attend because you are the face of the Inquisition. I am unsure if all of us will be welcome to attend at your side, but it would be wise to bring at least one of us with you."</p>
<p>"You mean like your lovely royal self?" Varric inquired, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. Cassandra started turning red.</p>
<p>"Works for me," Cadash agreed. The woman in question started sputtering in protest, but the dwarves ignore the outburst. Mahra glanced at Solas and offered a small smile. Solas gave a minuscule nod in return, he understood the gesture. Bringing a reluctant Cass is better than bringing elves to a fancy party, especially in the heart of the Orlasian empire. Orlais was already privately and publicly displeased to have a non-human Herald of Andraste, it was wise to avoid bringing another.</p>
<p>As Mahra’s nausea eased, they considered how to go about finding the red things. If being close to the knots in the warp and weft made her ill, she’d prefer to avoid them. As it was, there was a resounding lack of evidence to support the theory, so she kept her present discomfort to herself. The four other members of the group would be more than enough to find three red things, and thusly assured her that she should stay and rest.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Mahra insisted, more of polite habit than actual desire to brave the streets of Val Royeaux again. Cadash clapped her shoulder gently, she didn’t know it was possible for him to do so until he did, and all but pulled the Herald card. Which, fair enough. Fine. Mahra was staying at the inn for the evening.</p>
<p>The details with the proprietor had already been ironed out with Cassandra’s iron fists as both a threat and a promise, so the majority non-human group wasn’t receiving anything less than what the Lady Ambassador had paid for. Even a lone female elf was being treated as well as any human guest. Odd and confused looks could be forgiven, Mahra knew what she looked like to them. With hostility driven out, and left to her own devices, she began to plan. </p>
<p>Sitting in a comfortably sized tub, Mahra closed her eyes and let the heat and fragrance of the perfumed water soak through her bones into her spirit. The chaos in her mind calmed in a haze of jasmine, and she found herself reflecting on the most immediate problems. The tangled snare of activity was loosening the further Cadash walked down the passage of time. </p>
<p>The way the lines crossed and knotted and cut off and changed, it felt like a fable, a story. She’d need to ask Varric about story writing, see if some aspect matches up to her visions. If they were still camping, she’d have drawn a portion of the web for him, but the cold pristine ceramic that she could reach out and brush with her hand would be a terrible surface to work with. The branches she saw though, moments of decision that changed the course of more than just Fereldan and Orlais, that didn’t align. Fate and destiny are too unyielding to warrant such a display of obvious free will and consequences of, were they not? The old voice, the whispers in her soul felt drawn irrevocably to the thoughts of Varric’s book.</p>
<p>That voice, a part of her but separate, a guide and a puzzle in one. It had begun to whisper louder since the Breech. It was stronger and clearer. Mahra sank into her mind and found the web, not so deep in the dreaming that she would lure demons, rather a single demon in particular, but deep enough to listen.</p>
<p>There, she stood in front of the mirror. It was big and framed in elaborately carved wood, and the glass was smudged with the dust and grime of age. Mahra walked up to it and ran her fingertips across the filigree, releasing the trace scent of pine and stale air. The border of the mirror’s frame was carved rather simply, looking almost the layering of feathers, with a more ornate piece. She gazed at the stylized shape at the very top of the design, two faces, curled hair filling the space in between as though it was a single head with more than one face. Below it was a great bird feathered in what looked like flames. Its tail fanned into the rest of the frame. The wings were spread wide, all encompassing, its head turned to the side with a dulled red gem set in for the eye.</p>
<p>Mahra turned her attention to the glass itself. Her own life’s thread led into it, vanishing into the foggy depths of the suggestion of a reflection. As she squinted, she could just make out a shape within, a figure of her own stature. Their hand lifted in tandem with her own, pressed to the hazy glass. In unison, heads tilted, and the free hand waved. Then, the figure stepped back without Mahra herself moving at all. It waved again, and she heard a whisper of the old voice again.</p>
<p>“Wake up.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Eral Or’asalan - Dreaming of Herself</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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